


Tergeo

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Healing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love Triangle, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Post Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, War time fic, flangst, safe house, threat of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: After a traumatizing experience in battle, Hermione finds refuge from the war. Eager to assist the order, she opens her home to the wounded, throwing herself into the care of the injured. When Draco Malfoy is brought to her door, she's unsure if she can help him, but nothing is at it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, want to say a massive shoutout to the requests to bring this story back. It means the world to me to know that so many people missed this story and loved it as much as I did. 
> 
> When I started this story, I hadn't yet found out I was expecting my daughter! probably if I had, I wouldn't have started it then because I get VERY sick during my pregnancies. Many ER trips and hospital admissions later, my daughter is now one! I also, loved the idea of this story, but I knew it needed some work because I wrote it being incredibly malnourished lol. 
> 
> So thanks to my beta, my love, xravenslight who is helping me beef it up and find all those nasty errors. 
> 
> If your new, I hope you love it. If you're returning, I hope it's better than you remember. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for pretties and fic updates.
> 
> All my love, 
> 
> LadyKenz

**Trigger Warning: There is a scene of non-con in this prologue. It is not graphic and not explictly depicted but, it is worth mentioning!**

* * *

 

 

**Prologue**

**October 16th, 2002**

 

The brush was too thick, her feet barely finding their hold as she sprinted through it, while the air clung to her like a heavy cloak. Endless billows of smoke spread through the treeline as the setting sun lit their world on fire. 

 

She was vaguely aware of distant screams and spells being cast, her instincts taking over as she rolled to her side, darting away from a jet of magic. All she could hear was the  _ whooshwhooshwhoosh _ of blood pumping in her ears. 

 

There was no way of knowing if they were winning or losing. Surrounded by death, it always felt like losing. 

 

Her eyes spotted a giant boulder, and she whipped her head around to look behind her, but there was no one that she could see. She dove for the boulder and cowered behind it. 

 

Gods, she hated this – hated war. Hated the endless suffocating feeling of never being safe – it was exhausting. Her soul was tired. 

 

In times like this, she cursed Hogwarts. Cursed her magic. There was a life she’d never experience, a life with filled with mundane routines and a boring job. What she would give for boring right about now. 

 

Instead she was here, drowning in death and smoke. 

 

A rustle of leaves nearby nearly stopped her heart.  _ Shit. Shitshitshitshit. _

 

Before she could find the genesis of the noise, a husky voice rang out. 

 

“ _ Incarcerous _ !” 

 

She held her breath, waiting for the spell to hit her but nothing happened. Nothing bound her; no one hovered over her. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to steady her ragged breathing, her hand clutching her wand so hard she thought it might snap. 

 

“Let me go, you filthy fucking Death Eater.” The unknown voice was oddly familiar, high pitched and grating. “ _ Do you hear me? _ ” She called again and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Ah yes. Lavendar Brown. 

 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty young thing. Blood status?”

 

“ _ Fuck you _ .” Hermione flinched as she heard what she believed to be Lavender spitting. 

 

A hard crunch and a gargled scream filled the surrounding air, and Lavender's weeping sent shivers across Hermione’s skin. 

 

From the hollow sound of the Death Eater’s voice, Hermione guessed his back was turned. She could stun him, she just needed to act – needed to  _ move _ . 

 

She sent intention into her limbs – willing herself to take a step. Nothing happened. Her body shook with fear and hesitation. 

 

“ _ Fuck me _ ?” the deep voice boomed, “You don’t have any common sense at all. I won’t lie, I prefer brunettes, but who am I to be picky?  _ Moblicorpus _ .”

 

As she heard Lavendar fight against her constraints, muttering obscenities and growling, Hermione stood, her legs finally obeying. She trained her wand at the back of the Death Eater’s head, begging for a spell to come to her brain – any spell would do. 

 

She felt a sharp jab of a wand in her neck, and her heart sank. She had waited too long; now they were both dead, or worse. 

 

“Drop your fucking wand,” a familiar voice hissed in her ear – a voice she very much wished to never ran into again. 

 

She obeyed, greeting death with reluctant acceptance. 

 

“ _ Petrificus Totalis _ ,” Draco Malfoy cast in a hushed voice, and Hermione fell like stone to the ground. He gave her a withering sneer before waving his wand over her, disillusioning her from view.

She could hear Lavender struggling nearby.  

 

Draco’s disappointed glare fell over her, his mouth screwed up in a lazy scowl. With a final shake of his head he stepped out from his cover. 

 

“Rookwood, let’s go. We’re expected back,” malfoy drawled. 

 

“Junior! Give me a minute – I’m happy to share.”

 

Hermione’s stomach heaved.

 

“We’re going to be late.” Malfoy’s voice was clipped, almost annoyed.

 

“I said give me a minute, you spoiled fucking brat.”

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

“Don’t you dare fucking leave. I’m not through here.” 

 

“I can’t help that you can’t pass a fucking test without splinching yourself. I said let’s go; I’m sick of fucking repeating myself.” 

 

Another crunch laced with a cry from a broken girl filled Hermione’s ears. 

 

“Every time you say that, I punch this girl in her fucking face. Do you understand me? Please do not make the mistake of thinking I give a shit what her face looks like.”

 

Lavender heaved broken sobs, the kind that sunk deep into your bones and hollowed your soul out, and while Hermione knew that her one time blonde rival was experiencing far worse, there was some kind of unnatural torment to be forced to listen on. Hermione lay in forced silence as those sobs turned to screams which then turned to wails of pain. 

 

_ She would kill Rookwood.  _

 

“You want a turn, Junior?” Rookwood questioned after Lavender's screams mixed with his grunts had died away into the night.

 

“Of course not,” Malfoy spat, “I prefer my witches willing. Leave her. Let’s go.” There was beat of silence and Malfoy interjected quickly, “Rookwood! There’s no ne—”

 

“ _ Avada Kedavra _ !” His cast was lazy, but undoubtedly effective. “No need? Is that what you were about to say, Junior?”

 

“Stop fucking calling me that,” Malfoy hissed.

 

“I think daddy might be interested to know you’re going soft. She’s a blood traitor. Filth.”

 

There was a single derisive grunt followed by a snap of Apparition, and with it, the spell broke and Hermione gasped air in as though she had been starved of it. She barely made it to her knees before her stomach emptied onto the ground next to her. 

 

Tears spilled over and rolled angrily down her cheeks as she crawled out from behind the rock, sobbing into the dirt. 

 

She lifted her eyes, and there, only four or five feet from her, was the lifeless body of Lavender Brown, her once brilliant blue eyes now dulled by death. A sob broke through the quiet, and she clawed her way over to Lavendar.

 

Lavender's body had been broken. He had left her exposed and naked in the forest, no decency in her death, her face already almost unrecognizable – covered in blood and bruises that would never fully form. 

 

She covered Lavender's body with her own – apologies pouring from her mouth and into the dirt as she tried to cover her with her ripped clothing, her clumsy hands not performing properly. 

 

She couldn’t handle this pain. It was unbearable, she wouldn’t survive it, and she didn’t deserve to. She laid down next to Lavender's body and curled into herself. A numbness spread over her. 

 

No one comes back from this. Not even Hermione Granger.

  
  



	2. 2

April 9th, 2003

 

Hermione worked methodically on the linens hanging on the line, the salty breeze blowing loose tendrils of her curls until they tickled her cheek. She paused, closing her eyes and breathed in deeply before returning to her folding. She’d read somewhere once that the cure for any ailment was salt water: tears, sweat or the sea. 

 

Here in her peaceful corner, she found all three.

 

Fold in half, fold again, once more, and stack. She barely touched her wand anymore, not unless it was absolutely necessary.

 

Hermione bent, lifting the stack of fluffy towels and turned away from the cliffs. Humming to herself as she strolled back into the seaside cottage she now called home. 

 

The house was painted in pale coastal pastels, stuffed with whitewashed furniture and hand painted seashells on every shelf. It sat perched on the cliffs and all day she could hear the waves crashing on the shore below. 

 

Whenever possible, she avoided using magic but she did draw her wand often to Apparate down to the shore.

 

After the incident, Hermione had been taken out of the field, indefinitely. There had actually done a brief stint in the Psychiatric Ward at St. Mungos before being sent to a safe house in Surry. She quickly petitioned to leave. 

 

The safe house was a halfway house of war. Different men and women would drift through, all reeking of blood and death – a sad story to share with her, safehouse’s only long-term inhabitant. She was drowning there, and finally, after she had left, she came up gasping for air. 

 

Lupin had found her this sanctuary, tucked away by the sea and she could not have been more grateful. There had been a long transition period as she got settled, house was far too quiet and it set her nerves on edge. Every crash of a wave or howl of the wind had sent her into a panic. 

 

There was two kinds of quiet, the first was soothing, the second suffocating. She longed for company to break the isolation, but visitors were scarce.  The rest of the Order was busy fighting in the war that she was running from. There was no spare time to sit and drink a cuppa with her after a long day of death and reassure her that her the wind wasn’t trying to kill her. 

 

She had, in the months that passed, found a since of peace that she never expected to find again. 

 

Standing on the back porch, cradling a glass of cheap red wine to her chest, she watched with as the setting sun lit the clouds on fire. 

 

There was a loud commotion, frantic voices and mumbled obscenties coming from the front lawn, and in a panic she whipped her head towards the noise. 

 

Harry and Ron clambered up the short steps onto her porch, their eyes frantic and wild, shouldering Luna between them, her lithe body limp. Hermione paled at the sight of her blonde hair hanging, and she backed away from them slowly, shaking her head and feeling the space behind her for something to brace herself on. 

 

“Hermione,” Ron grunted, panting from exertion, “We need your help.” All three were matted with dirt and caked with blood, and Hermione’s mind went blank. She could hear the crashing of magic in her brain and the shouting of strangers even though there was no one there. Her eyes glazing with the memory of battle.

 

“HERMIONE! A bed! It’s Luna, for Christ’s sake,” Harry yelled. 

 

She blinked rapidly, her eyes focusing on her friends. “Yes, of course. Use my room. It’s just over there; the only other rooms are upstairs.” She stepped aside, letting her friends drag Luna through the threshold, the toes of her boots dragging behind her. “What’s she been hit with?”

 

“Looks like a slashing spell. We need Dittany, and you’ll need your wand. Hurry!” They set Luna on the white linens and Hermione watched in horror as Luna’s blood seeped from her stomach and onto Hermione’s white sheets. 

 

Her brain was alive with adrenaline and panic, her hands fumbling with the potions cabinet in the kitchen, several of them rolling onto the counter before she found what she was looking for.

 

“Dittany...Dittany...Dittany…Ah yes! Dittany!” she grabbed it and sprinted towards her room, uncorking it as she went. Her instincts took over and chased away the trauma that was threatening to invade her psyche. 

 

Luna was normally pale, but she was extraordinarily faint , her lips now a pale blue. Hermione’s shaking hands lifted the hem of her shirt a few inches and exposed a giant gash across her belly button. Blood poured from her abdomen, and Hermione’s tried to remember to breath through her mouth, the smell of iron making her stomach turn. 

 

She squeezed a few drops of the Essence of Dittany onto the wound and slowly it started to stitch together again. Hermione grabbed her wand from the end table and hovered her hands over Luna again. 

 

“ _ Totem Corpus _ .” 

 

“Is she going to be alright?” 

 

“Yes, I think so. She’ll need rest; she’s lost a lot of blood. There’s not much I can do for that for now…there’s blood replenishing potion, but I’ll have to see if I have the ingredients.” Hermione reached her hand down and wiped the matted blonde hair from Luna’s forehead and shivered as she remembered a similar sight with another blonde not that long ago. 

 

She shivered at the memory and waved her wand over Luna’s face. “ _ Tergeo _ .”

 

“Tergeo?” Ron asked, his brows falling low over his blue eyes. 

 

“Clears away the blood.” Hermione muttered, silently wishing there was a way to clear their souls of it as well. Luna’s skin bloomed, the dried blood clearing. 

 

“Why’d you bring her here? St Mungos–” Hermione was caught off before she could finish.

 

“Is no longer an option.” Ron bit out, cracking his neck in frustration. “It’s now officially under control of the Ministry. Dean Thomas went after the last battle and was arrested on sight.” 

 

“Arrested?” Hermione gasped, turning with wide eyes to examine her ginger haired friend. “On what charges?”

 

“Anything they bloody want: treason, conspiracy, you name it.”

 

“That’s horrible,” Hermione breathed. “Hospitals should be safe regardless of who you’re supporting in this stupid war.”

 

“Yea, well, they’re not.” Harry’s voice carried a hard edge that she wouldn't have found there a few years ago. “They’re working on setting up a safe house now that can take the injured. Can she stay tonight?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“We’ve got briefing at Headquarters, they’ll need to know about Luna. We will back tomorrow.” Harry squeezed her shoulder in parting, and Ron leaned over, pressing his lips to her forehead, damp with sweat. 

 

She didn’t think much of it, though she wondered if she should. In the last few months, there had been irreparable damage and he seemed to understand that she wasn’t in the place to explore a romantic relationship, that maybe she never would again. Whatever had begun last year had been snuffed out by the war and the carnage it brought with it. 

 

She sat looking over Luna’s lifeless body, the only thing giving away the Death Eater’s failure was her shallow breath. Hermione sunk into the armchair in the corner of the room, curling her legs up under her. 

 

The recovery, both physically and mentally, was going to be tough. Horrible, even. Hermione wasn’t even healed after all these months, and she hadn’t suffered by anyone’s wand, not really. 

 

Death would have been easier. Maybe not for those left behind, but certainly for her. She could have drifted away into the universe, nothing more than a memory. Instead, she woke up every day and was violently reminded of her pain. 

 

Because of  _ her  _ hesitation, a girl had been raped and murdered while she lay there in silence. Hermione shared as much blame as Rookwood.

 

Rookwood had for a long while become an obsession; she would secretly plot his murder, imagining all the spells she would cast to end his life. For a week straight she studied the darkest magic texts she could get her hands on in the bookstore and practiced her wand work. He should pray he never met her in a dark alley. 

 

The truth is though, the next time someone had brought up a mission, she froze. She couldn’t even portkey out. She stood, carved in stone in the mausoleum of war. She had eventually curled into herself, a mess of tears, curls and anxiety, yanking at her scalp until she finally  _ felt _ something again, even if it was physical pain.

 

Molly found her rocking herself back and forth and she insisted that Hermione be taken out of the field. She was in no shape for battle, to which Moody had replied that none of them were. 

 

At the time of the incident it had been four years of heavy losses and casualties, hope was gone. There would be no winning, only an honorable death for them. 

 

Shortly after Hermione’s “retirement”, there had been a shift. She wasn’t sure what changed – that was privileged information these days – but something had changed the tides of war. They had even managed a few successful missions, and more and more Aurors and Order Members were returning alive and whole.  

 

Luna stirred in her sleep, turning her head to give a weak cough. Hermione ran into the kitchen for a glass of water and brought it to Luna. She lifted it gently to her dry lips, and the girl unconsciously took a small sip of water that dribbled from the corners of her mouth. 

 

Hermione felt helpless, a feeling that didn’t settle well with her. There was an overwhelming need to help her friends even if just from her small corner of the world. 

 

Once in the living room, she started pouring through her books on potions. She stood at the shelves, grabbing any that might be helpful and stacking them on the coffee table. Once she had a stack of ten, she sat down and flipped open the first one:  _ Advanced Potion-Making _ by Libatius Borage. 

 

She reached for a blank pad of paper and a pen and began scribbling down potion ingredients. She worked through the chapter on healing potions and then grabbed the next book,  _ Magical Drafts and Potions _ by Arsenius Jigger and repeated her earlier task. 

 

After she had finished all ten books covering topics from potions to magical herbs and even Muggle essential oils, she reviewed her list, which spanned four pages. 

 

Hermione may have found a way to assist the Order after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless Beta love to Ravenslight for helping me pour over this beloved fic of mine. Run to her, shower her in praise and kudos!


	3. 3

April 10th, 2003

 

Harry and Ron returned to find Hermione standing in front of a bubbling cauldron, her hair tied up in a messy knot and a look of concentration on her face. The look was vastly different from the blank stare they normally found her with. 

 

“Boys!” she chirped, her eyes darting up, bright and round. “I have a list of ingredients I need you to bring me from the Order’s supplies. I have an idea…”

 

“Oh, that’s never really a good thing,” Ron whispered to Harry, who responded with a laugh and a jab of his elbow 

 

“I want to help the Order. I know I’m not ready to be back out there but I’d like you to bring people here.” She flourished her hands in the air, gesturing wildly at her mostly empty cottage. “I know you’ll have other safe houses equipped to take the more serious cases, but I’m just sitting on my hands around here. I can take on minor cases  _ and _ they can stay for recovery. I’ve been in those houses, they are no place for healing.”

 

“Hermione, you aren’t a healer…”

 

“I know that, Ronald.” She narrowed her eyes at her friend with a withering curl of her lip. “But I know basic healing spells. I know I can offer  _ something, _ especially if you run and get me these ingredients.” With a wave of her hand, the paper flew off the counter and into Ron’s chest. 

 

“Hermione, are you sure you’re up to be taking care of other people?” Harry asked softly. Her  eyes shot to her messy haired friend, his eyes carefully examining her like she was on the verge of spontaneously exploding.

 

“Of course,” Hermione rushed, her eyes darting back to her cauldron. “If I can’t  be out there with you, then this is what I can do. I don’t want Luna going to a safe house to recover — those places are awful. Threadbare blankets, canned food on dusty shelves… no.” Hermione gave a firm shake of her head. “She’ll stay here. She should be ready in a week or so, and then she can decide what  _ she _ wants to do.” Her jaw was set as she turned towards her friends, who were looking at her a bomb that might detonate at any moment. “Can you bring the supplies or not?”

 

“We’ll run this past Mad-Eye and Lupin. As long as they give the go-ahead, we will bring back whatever we can get our hands on,” Harry conceded, and Hermione nodded, stirring the brew in her cauldron. 

 

\-----

  
  


Hermione carried a tray of broth, crackers and Blood Replenishing Potion towards her room, where Luna was sleeping. 

 

She set it down on the end table and lowered the sheet where Luna’s wound was. She lifted the bandage and was relieved that her near fatal wound had been reduced to a shallow cut; the edges were pink and puckering: the beginning of a scar. 

 

Hermione stared down at her friend – her face still abnormally pale while waiting her much needed potion – the deep purple circles under her eyes were stark in comparison to her translucent skin. War was etched into her once kind features, a hardness she would never have imagined on Luna. 

 

With a gentle touch, she pried Luna’s lips apart, slowly pouring the contents of her pain potion into her mouth. She removed ointment she’d acquired from the chemists when she’d accidentally clipped her finger on a butcher’s knife a few months back. It wasn’t near as powerful as a magical version, but it was something to aid in her fight against infection.

 

She grabbed her book,  _ Healing & Herbology: A Guide to Healing Plants _ , and perched on the armchair in the corner. 

 

She made it to a particularly dull chapter on Doxy Venom when Luna began to cough and stir in her bed. 

 

“Luna?!” Hermione dropped the book at her feet and rushed to her friends side. The Blood Replenishing Potion had worked; Luna’s skin was back to its original color, her lips once again pink and missing the blueish hue.

 

“Hermione?” Luna’s voice chimed happily, its usual distant quality present. “Is that you?”

 

Hermione was wiping tears away furiously while she laughed at nothing in particular. “Yes! Oh Luna, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re alright.”

 

“Quite. Although I could use a glass of water.”

 

Hermione handed her the cup on the nightstand and helped her sit up on her elbows to drink.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine, mostly. A bit tender around the middle. Do you know what happened?” Luna’s eyes were bright and curious, her lips tugging up into a familiar smile. One would never have suspected that she had been on the brink of death hours before.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any specifics; they didn’t mention anything other than that you’d been hit with a slicing curse. You’ve been out for almost two days.”

 

“Did we get Draco?”

 

“Draco?” Hermione paled at his name; she hadn’t heard it in a long while. Her mind flashed back to the woods, to him immobilizing her and leaving her in the brush to listen to… 

 

“Draco. Draco Malfoy. That was the mission: to extract him.”

 

“Extract him?”

 

“Yes, our team was sent out to bring him back to Headquarters. I wonder if we got him before I was taken out…” Her eyes wandered about the room, drifting along the decor, completely oblivious to the shake in Hermione’s hands.

 

“Oh, they didn’t mention,” she managed with a thick gulp. “Why were you trying to capture him?”

 

“I’m not sure… I’m never given that level of clearance. I only know that we were not to harm him—stun or petrify only—and bring him back as soon as possible. Will Harry and Ron be coming back?”

 

“Yes, I imagine so.” Hermione was trying to ignore the million questions bouncing around her head, knowing they would go unanswered by Luna. “I’ve requested some supplies, so hopefully  I can help others in your situation. They were going to get approval and then come back, so maybe tomorrow?”

 

“Oh ok. Might I have some of that broth? My stomach is busy as Blibbering Humdinger.”

 

“A wha— oh, yes. Here, let me help you…” 

 

Hermione gripped Luna under her arms and lifted her to sitting, fussing over her as she winced. Drawing her wand, she levitated the bowl in front of her, and Luna brought the spoon to her lips again and again, sighing in contentment as the warm broth trickled down her throat. 

 

Hermione was chewing on a thought, a question she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. Her curiosity gave in. 

 

“How is it out there? Are you managing alright?”

 

“Alright.” Luna’s sweet smile ignited a warmth in Hermione’s  It’s… different than before. It seems like we are doing better, more successful missions. It’s a bit overwhelming at times, how their numbers can be so great. There’s so much hate in the world; it’s exhausting to fight it constantly.”

 

Hermione felt a stab of guilt twist deep in her belly. She should be next to them,  _ fighting _ with them. Even at the thought, a cold sweat spread over her body, and she felt her pulse quicken. She wasn’t ready, not yet. 

 

“We have more information now, and it seems like we are getting close. Close to what, I’m not sure… but closer, surely. Do you know my dad? He didn’t make it…”

 

“Oh Luna! I’m so sorry… no one told me. I… I had no idea…” Hermione’s heart ached as she watched her friends face frown for maybe the first time. 

 

“He had an honorable death, one he would be proud to call his. He saved me.” Luna let a rare tear fall and wiped it away quickly before smiling at Hermione, “Even if we win this war, the cost is too high. Not just in those we lost, but in our souls. They are cracked and damaged, and I don’t know if they’ll ever be whole again. We’ve given more than we could afford to pay, I fear.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more… I… I hate not being out there with you all. I just don’t want to cause anyone else’s death. I froze… I froze, and Lav—”

 

“You had a human moment, Hermione Granger.” Luna squeezed her hand and regarded her with soft, loving eyes. “They shouldn't cost people their lives, but in today’s climate, it is the norm, I’m afraid. My last human moment landed me here, with no idea who I left behind in the field; the one before that cost me my father. You are still a tremendous person with a giant heart. Don’t you forget that.”

 

“Thank you, Luna. I’m so sorry about your dad; he was a good wizard.”

 

“The very best.” She smiled and continued with her broth. 

 

\-----

  
  


Luna was resting comfortably – now upstairs – so Hermione could change the linens and prepare the room. She had decided that this room would no longer be hers, it would be triage. The room was just off the entry, and it’s wide windows poured light in through most of the day. On the north wall was a closet with shelving from top to bottom, she packed it full of clean linens, potion and and Muggle first aid items.

 

The kitchen and dining room were next to be revamped. In a severe emergency, one she did not expect would be brought to her, the table could easily be utilized and she stocked the nearest cabinet with items that might be needed to suture or bandage a bleeding wound.

 

Finally, she put out a basket of ripped linens to serve as quick bandages as well as some Muggle supplies she had run out for earlier: hydrogen peroxide, LiquidSkin, rubbing alcohol, pain pills, cold packs, and other miscellaneous items she had bought in bulk. They couldn’t rely on magical items alone—they would run out too quickly. Simple injuries would have to be treated the old fashioned way, there was no getting around it. 

 

Standing back, she examined her makeshift hospital, chuckling to herself. Who knew if anyone would come—maybe the other houses could handle everything. But if they couldn’t, she’d be prepared.

 

A knock on the door sliced through her reverie, and she turned to make her way towards the door. She opened it a fraction and smiled at her guest. 

 

Neville. 

 

He was sporting a black eye that was nearly swollen shut, bruises smattered down his handsome face. Two of his fingers were taped together, and he entered the cottage with a slight limp to his gait. 

 

“How are you, Neville?!” She wrapped him in a hard hug and loosened her embrace when he wheezed slightly. 

 

“Brilliant, Hermione. How are you holding up?”

 

“Better than most, I’m afraid. Here to see Luna, I assume?” she smiled at her unkempt friend. 

 

“Hope you don’t mind. The guys told me where she was.” He grinned sheepishly. 

 

“Of course, she’s right upstairs. But I wonder if you might help me with something after?”

 

“Anything. What’s up?”

 

Hermione shifted her weight back and forth, a nervous tick. “I want to start a garden.”

 

“A garden? I don’t know that I’ll be much help with that... “

 

“You were always brilliant at Herbology, Neville.”

 

“What kind of garden are you thinking?”

 

“A healing garden. I want to grow plants that can heal injuries like the one Luna has and the ones you have now. Potion ingredients and what not. I know the stores must be low elsewhere—who has time to grow them? Well,” she shrugged, “I do. Would you help?”

 

“I can certainly try. Knowledge is a bit rusty — there’s not much use for Herbology these days.” He gave her a wry smile and jogged up the stairs. 

 

For the first time in months, Hermione was beginning to feel like herself again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to Ravenslight for helping me work through these chapters! 
> 
> Draco is coming! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I cherish each and every review you drop into my inbox!


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest of shouts to Ravenslight for her love and beta-brain! All remaning mistakes are mine.

May 24th, 2003

 

Since Luna had departed only a few short weeks before, the cottage had transformed. Near the cliffs, a small garden was starting to bloom, full of plants that would someday be boiled, cut, and crushed down for healing potions. 

 

She had since treated two more wounded from the battlefield, Lee Jordan and an auror who went by her last name, Connor. Both of them had stayed a little more than a week, and Hermione was feeling restless yet again now that her beds were empty.

 

The garden kept her mind busy. There was an entire world she needed to know more about in order to sustain this small plot of earth. Neville stopped by several times in order to walk her through the basics and each time she would fill a notebook with his musings on gardening. 

 

For instance, Dittany shouldn’t be watered more than twice a week, clearing the weeds from the area was the only way to keep it from being smothered. Goosegrass, on the other hand, needed constant tending and even enjoyed a song, according to Neville.

 

Hermione had rolled her eyes at the idea of singing to a plant, but when the other plants began to thrive and the Goosegrass did not, she gave it a go. She sang a nursery song from her childhood late one evening, and the next morning, she froze in her steps as she eyed the proud plant, now an inch higher. So now, to Hermione’s extreme displeasure, she sang to the Goosegrass most nights. 

 

Tonight, a full moon hovered over the ocean, setting a glow on the water and the crashing waves below. Her voice floated over the wind, through her garden and out to sea.

 

_ “I see the moon,  _

_ The moon sees me,  _

_ The moon sees the one that I long to see,  _

_ So God bless the moon,  _

_ And God bless me,  _

_ God bless the one that I long to see.” _

 

She sighed, sitting in her garden on a soft bed of dirt. The soil had been tilled and watered, almost silky as it sifted through her open fingers again and again. Her feet were bare and buried in the soft earth. She felt… grounded. Empty, sure, but grounded. For months, she had been floating in her depression and something about sitting in this patch of earth made her feel like she finally had a purpose.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione woke in a start, her heart seizing her in caged chest. Outside panicked voices lofted through her open window, and it took her far too long to place her surroundings. She thought at first she must be dreaming, that she had somehow been returned to those damned woods. 

 

She patted the mattress around her and breathed a sigh of relief when she found that she was safe in her bed, but the voices were very real. She perched at the giant window behind her bedframe and looked down toward the moon-bathed lawn. 

 

Harry and Ron again dragging a limp form between them. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her robe, tying her hair up out of her face. She reached the door before she remembered her wand, tucked into the side drawer and hastily returned for it. 

 

She padded down the stairs and towards the front door, flourishing her wand in the air, bringing the lights of her cottage to life.

 

She opened it to Harry and Ron shouldering a hooded form. They both were streaked with blood and dirt and she could feel dark magic in the air like a stench. 

 

“Come in, come in,” she ushered, opening the door widely and gesturing towards the kitchen table. “Do you know what they’ve been hit with?” Her mind was busying cataloguing, sifting through her list of diagnostics and imagining the wand work in her mind. 

 

“Cruciatus is apparent, but we didn’t have any time to evaluate his injuries in the dungeon.”

 

“Dungeon? This was a rescue?” Hermione asked vaguely. 

 

“Kind of…” Harry hedged. 

 

“Who is it?” Hermione’s brows fell low as she stepped up to the table and drew back the ebony hood. With a gasp, she recoiled, jumping as if a cobra had been in wait for her.  

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she swore uncharacteristically at the pair of them, her eyes darting between the three men in her kitchen, “You can’t bring a Death Eater here! Are you barking mad?” She shook her head violently, not able—not  _ willing _ —to believe that Draco Malfoy was lying unconscious on her dining room table 

 

“Listen, it’s not what you think, okay? We can’t take him to the other safe houses. If you don’t treat him, he could die…”

 

“Well, that’s not much incentive for me to treat him, now is it? Are you both Imperioused? What in the world could possess you both to do something so stupid?” 

 

Hermione had backed up until she felt the wall against her back, and her hands shook. Flashes of the forest flew through  her mind: his sad eyes looking down on her, his voice when he spoke to Rookwood. She had often wrestled with Draco’s actions that night, with what his intentions might have been.

 

_ No. Fuck him.  _

 

He could have killed Rookwood. He could have at least let  _ her  _ kill him. Cowardly, he had simply stood there and watched. 

 

“You’re asking too much.” She gulped, her eyes darkening as she retreated. “I can’t do this.” She felt violent tremors in her hands, searing memories scorching their way into her vision, the sounds of Lavendar whimpering buzzing in her ears.

 

“Listen, a lot of this information is confidential. I can’t tell you much without approval from Mad-Eye or Lupin.”

 

“Well, then run off and go ask Mad-Eye or Lupin to save him!”

 

“Merlin, Hermione. Don’t you trust us?” Ron asked sadly, “We wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t have a good reason.”

 

Hermione considered what Ron asked thoughtfully. Of course she trusted them; that wasn’t the question. 

 

The question was whether or not Draco Malfoy was worthy of saving, and whether or not she had the right to make decisions regarding life and death.

 

Hermione had always wanted to believe that she was the type of person who would risk anything for a stranger but this wasn’t a stranger; she knew him intimately. If this was some test of her character, she was dangerously close to failing. 

 

“I’ll do what I can, but you’re helping.” They both nodded. “And he doesn’t stay here. I don’t give a shit where he goes… but not here.”

 

“Hermione…”

 

“No. Not unless you come back with all that fancy clearance you need. I won’t be housing a Death Eater. You’ll take him tonight.” 

 

“We can’t… I know it’s makes zero sense… but we can’t.” Harry’s voice was pleading. 

 

She stared into her friends glassy emerald eyes and sighed in concession. “Then you’ll stay –. I don’t trust him. I won’t be able to close my eyes for a blink if I know he’s here unattended.”

 

Harry and Ron exchanged worried glances. “Okay. One of us will stay... until we get the clearance,” Ron amended quickly.

 

Hermione gave a tense nod and pushed her sleeves up. 

 

She approached the table where Malfoy lay and pushed the hooded robe from his body. He was wearing what looked like used to be a very nice set of trousers and white shirt. Now it was tattered and ripped, blood soaked in more places than seemed natural. Pink puckered scars littered all over his abdomen.

 

“He’s been healed… badly. And the wounds… they aren’t magical, it looks—it looks like he was stabbed,” her eyes darted up to his face, he had a broken cheekbone and nose, his lips were split and cracked. 

 

She removed her wand and pointed it at his chest. “ _ Diffindo _ .” Her magic sliced away at the weak remnants of cloth still clinging to his body and she gasped as his torso came into full view. 

 

“It’s like they stabbed him and then healed him. Kept him alive… but for what purpose?”

 

“To hurt him some more,” Ron said, his lips in a flat line and a strange bitterness lingering in his words. 

 

“His shoulder is dislocated, but most of these wounds are healed. Unless you know what else he’s been hit with, there’s not much I can do. I can fix the shoulder and his broken nose… but I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

 

“At Mungo’s, they have a spell that highlights curses and issues. Can you do it?” Harry peered over his wiry spectacles at her.

 

Hermione chewed on her lip. “I can try… I’ve read about it but... I’ll try.”

 

She placed her hands on Malfoy’s chest, and felt a ripple of goosebumps up her forearms at the contact of icy chest. 

 

“ _ Injuriam Revelare _ .”

 

Nothing happened, and she shook her head and sighed.  _ Focus, Hermione _ . 

 

In her mind, she imagined the inner workings of the body; she pictured the blood coursing and travelling from head to toe, the heart pumping, the lungs filling and collapsing. 

 

“ _ Injuriam Revelare _ ,” she recited, her magic coursing from her fingers and wand and soaking through the frigid, pale skin of Draco Malfoy. She imagined her magic trailing where his blood went, a golden light touching each organ and covering it in its light before moving on. 

 

She could see it behind closed lids; she could see her magic moving down his esophagus and to his stomach. The light paused and finally surrounded the organ, lighter in some areas, before moving to the liver. The light didn’t touch it, it kept moving, and ignored the spleen as well. 

 

Her eyes shot open as a realization slammed into her, sucking in a huff of hair.

 

“It’s not magical.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, whoever did this,” she lifted her hands and gestured to the bruises and scars across his broken body, “They didn’t use magic. They beat him. He has internal bleeding in his liver and spleen from what I can tell, a little damage to his surrounding organs. He is losing too much blood.”

 

She felt her heart soften as she looked as his mutilated body, and with a groan her hear resolved itself. She needed to help him. She took a deep sigh, and when she opened her eyes, she was recomposed. 

 

“Right.  _ Accio Blood Replenishing Potion _ .” the vial flew from the cupboard into Hermione’s open hand, and she handed it to Harry. “Give him this.”

 

“ _ Sana Organi _ …  _ Sana Corpus _ …  _ Sana Organi _ …  _ Sana Corpus _ …” Hermione waved her wand in intricate formations around Malfoy’s abdomen, her eyes closed, and her pulsing magic focused solely on him. Healing spells drained the energy of their caster, pouring it into the patient. She wasn’t trained for this; she couldn’t go for long. 

 

After about three minutes of intensive casting, her hands fell to the table and her head drooped.

 

“I need a break… that should help him for now. I need to rest. I’ll go again in a while.” 

 

Ron’s arms were around her before she could think to ask for them, and his arms scooped her up by the backs of her knees. 

 

“You take him into the room; I’ll stay with her. Head back to HQ, tell them it was a success, and get the clearance to debrief her, yea?” Ron guided. Hermione’s conscious was wavering, but she felt a vague sense of pride for his leadership of Harry. 

 

“Yea, sounds good, mate. I’ll be back by morning. I’ll get him in the room _. Moblicorpus _ .”

 

Hermione felt the steps beneath Ron’s feet as he climbed her up to her bedroom and she leaned into his familiar arms.

  
  



	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this update! I had a few other writings that got in the way but I think that is winding down! 
> 
> Thanks to Ravenslight for your unparalleled beta eyes. All remaining mistakes are undoubtedly mine.

May 25th, 2013

 

Hermione awoke lazily, feeling safe for the first time in a long time. Her back was pressed against someone, and a warm arm was draped around her middle. She could hear quiet snoring, and when she shifted, his broad, freckled arm tightened around her. 

 

_ Ronald.  _

 

With a gentle touch, she lifted his arm and rose from the bed. It was only 5:34 am, but she’d been out for a few hours already. 

 

The stairs creaked under her bare feet as she tiptoed downstairs. She peeked into the downstairs bedroom and moved silently towards her potions cabinet, plucking Blood Replenishing and Dreamless Sleep from her stores.

 

Luckily enough, she had a lot of Dreamless Sleep on hand. Molly had sent along a case worth when she transferred here, but as much as she desperately need them, they went unused. She hated the nightmares, but forgetting Lavender seemed like more of a disservice, like she was taking the easy way out for what she’d done – or, rather, not done. Some things deserved punished for and if nightmares were the worst of it, she’d take them happily night after night.

 

Inside the triage room, Draco lay bathed in soft moonlight; his normally pale skin was eerily gray and sunken. She placed the vials on the end table and recited the spell from the night before.

 

_ “Injuriam Revelare.” _

Her magic coursed through him, again skipping over his injured organs. Her healing spells were working, but it was a slow process, and there was only so much magic in her at any given moment, it was hard for her to feel particularly called to spending it on him. 

 

Her fingers parted his pale lips and slowly trickled the vial of Blood Replenishing Potion down his throat. Her hands soothed the long lines of his throat, an attempt to help ease its passage.

 

She pointed her wand at the porcelain bowl on the table by the window. “ _ Augamenti _ .” After dipping the corner of a linen scrap into the cool water, she carefully brought it to his lips, letting drops of water slide over his tongue. 

 

Hermione studied his face, etched with deep lines that drew his brows together. He’d changed so much since she saw him last; he was almost gaunt, his cheeks hollow and deep purple circles shadowing his eyes. He flinched, the skin around his eyes creasing when he clenched them tight. She plucked the Dreamless Sleep vial from the end table, but before she could pour it, a hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, and her gaze shot to his face. His open, panicked eyes staring back at her, his mouth hanging open. 

 

“Help,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. 

 

“Malfoy…”

 

He blinked twice, unseeing, and his eyes fluttered closed again. She noticed sweat forming along his dirty hairline, and she reached out to rest her palm there. 

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Nothing. 

 

She poured the vial down his throat, again caressing his throat to assist him in swallowing. He whimpered a few times and then fell into a restful sleep. 

 

Staring down at him, she wanted nothing more than to make sense of the situation – of him. There were giant pieces of the puzzle missing. Pieces she couldn’t have without permission of men she no longer really knew _.  _

 

With a sigh, she returned her wand to its place over his abdomen and began to recite the only healing spell in her arsenal. 

 

_ “Sana Organi… Sana Corpus… Sana Organi… Sana Corpus…”  _

 

She went half as long as before, stopping before she felt faint. She could perform the spell again sooner if she didn’t push herself too far. Stamina was key, and she reasoned that some Pepper Up Potion would need to go on her list to brew.

 

Closing the door behind her, she nearly jumped when she caught Harry sitting in the shadows, his hair wilder than normal. His face was heavy from a sleepless night. 

 

“Thank you, Hermione.” His voice was weary and thick, an undercurrent of intensity that she didn’t understand.

 

“Did you get your precious clearance?” she clipped, flipping the lights on. There was once a time they could tell each other anything. It wasn’t his fault that things had changed. One could argue that those changes were actually because of her, but it didn’t bring the wall down – it didn’t take away the hurt. 

 

Harry removed his glasses, tossing them on the tiled counter in front of him and rubbing his hands over his face roughly. “We gotta talk. Should we get Ron?”

 

“I don’t know.” She quirked an annoyed brow at her friend. “Should you?”

 

They locked eyes, his emerald gaze burning into her. “Yeah. Yeah, we should. He knows a lot more than I do.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on the back porch overlooking the cliffs, the tall grass blowing in the early hours of dusk. Having been woken up before six without a proper breakfast left Ronald a little more cranky than the other two usually preferred, but this is what they had. 

 

Harry spoke first. “After the incident that took you out of the field, the tides changed, as you know.” Hermione nodded, but remained silent. “Draco contacted the Order while you were in St. Mungo’s. He wanted amnesty, Hermione. He needed a way out.” Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Harry continued slowly. “He went through all the proper tests. Veritaserum, Legilimency, the whole nine. He cleared it all.”

 

Hermione scepticism crested, and she focused her energy on trying to keep her tone even. She slid her tongue over her teeth and sat up a little straighter. “Okay. So why didn’t he get out?”

 

“You know Mad-Eye…” Ron finally joined, letting out a long yawn. “Thought Draco had more to offer to the cause. He sent him back in, this time for us.”

 

Something about his words grated against her skin. “You made him a spy?” Her brows knit tightly together as she stared out at the cresting sun. 

 

“A liaison.” Ron corrected.

 

“Right.” She snorted with a severe roll of her eyes. “And how do you fit into all of this then?”

 

“I was  _ his _ liaison, his handler, and connection to the Order.”

 

She balked, her eyes blowing wide. “ _ You? _ Godric, why would they choose you?”

 

“Nice, Hermione.” Harry chuckled, and Ron scowled. 

 

“I just mean that you and Malfoy aren’t exactly friends, yeah? I don’t know; it just seems like someone more qual–” 

 

“Hey! Since you’ve been out of the field, a lot has changed. I’m one of the lead strategists and am out on almost every important mission we attempt.” Ron was fully awake now. He sat on the edge of his seat, passion dripping from each word as he tried to convey his importance. “ _ I’ve _ been working the closest with Draco this whole time.”

 

“And what about you?” Hermione nodded at Harry. 

 

Harry leaned back, a petulant pout adorning his lips. “These days, I’m little more than a show pony. They hardly let me out of my cage for a mission. I insisted on being on the team that extracted Malfoy, but other than that, they treat me like a morale booster for the real soldiers.” When had Harry become so bitter?

 

“Why?”

 

“They don’t want me to die.” Harry sniffed, as if the thought was an unfounded worry.  “They think if I’m dead, then You-Know-Who wins. No contest. So I’m kept in an ivory tower, only paraded to make the rounds at safe houses and shoo-in missions.”

 

“How did you get on the team to get Malfoy?”

 

“I was at my bloody wits end! I insisted! I told them that I was losing it and needed to get out. To their credit, the mission was supposed to be easy.”

 

“You see,” Ron interrupted, “Malfoy could sense the Death Eaters were onto him; he started getting paranoid, demanding we get him out, saying he had done enough. Mad-Eye wanted more, but Draco was sure they were going to kill him. Said even You-Know-Who knew. So Mad-Eye made him a deal: one more week to gather as much intel as he could and then we would ‘capture’ him in battle. The plan was to make it seem legit so as to protect his parents; they didn’t know he’d gone turncoat.”

 

“That was the mission Luna was injured in…” Hermione added in, lost in Ron’s story.

 

“Exactly. Well, he wasn’t there; he wasn’t where he said he’d be.” Ron ran his fingers through his too-long hair. “We looked– bloody hell, we looked for too long. We lost people – almost lost Luna. Finally, we had to give up, but he wasn’t at our next meeting either. I actually noticed a couple of suspicious looking blokes and illegally Apparated out. The last few weeks, we had been storming every known fortress and hideout we could think of. Everything had been abandoned.”

 

“That’s why they let me tag along to the the location we found Malfoy. A small castle in Northern Ireland had some rumored suspicious activity, but they were convinced it was abandoned. We had a team of six.” Harry’s eyes were trained on the stone between them, his voice hollow and lost in memory of the battle. “We were met with twice that many in the field alone. Luckily – and unluckily –  most of the Death Eaters were young. Mostly recruits, kids right out of Hogwarts… some still in.” Harry’s hooded eyes caught Ron’s, and they shared a quiet moment of acknowledgement.

 

“Long story short,” Ron interjected with a gulp, “We found Malfoy in the dungeons. It was near impossible, but we got him out of there. Listen, I’m the first to admit that Malfoy is a right fucking git, but he’s paid his dues. He’s paid more than his fair share.”

 

“Lavender, Ron.  _ He _ was there. He could have done something!”

 

“You don’t know that, and you don’t know his reasons for not doing it,” Harry reasoned. 

 

“I can’t believe I’ve lived to see the day you two are defending Draco Malfoy. I think it may have finally happened. I’ve lost my mind.”

 

“I assure you, your mind is still brilliantly intact.” Harry fixed her with a crooked grin. “War changes people – sometimes it even changes the bad guys. We can’t tell you his reasons; those are for him to share if he wants to. But he can’t be released to a safe house or St. Mungo’s. It’s not safe for him out there, few people even know of his involvement. We need him to stay here.” Harry seemed to shrink as he spoke, worried about her reaction. 

 

Hermione sighed and she stood and made her way towards the door. “And Harry?”

 

“Yeah, ‘Mione?”

 

“Get some sleep. You look like shit.” She gave him a half smile. 

 

“Thanks, ‘Mione.” He gave an indelicate snort. “Always the sensitive one.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione continued to work on Draco every few hours. She seemed to last a little longer by the end of the day, but she was exhausted deep in her bones. Her survival was completely dependent on strong tea and Revitalizing potions – which she was now out of. 

 

She craned her neck, letting out a long yawn over her cauldron. Her Strengthening Solution was still a shade of dark navy, so she sprinkled a little more Powdered Griffin Claw and watched as it turned the perfect shade of turquoise.

 

Hermione glanced at the recipe and groaned at the final instruction: stew for forty-three minutes and then remove from heat. 

 

Perfect. Forty-three minutes. Not an annoying number or anything. She rolled her eyes and set the egg timer. 

 

Ron entered the kitchen then, finally having woken from his nap. 

 

“Hi, ‘Mione. Anything to eat?” 

 

“A little… I’ll head up to the store in a bit.”

 

“How do you get there?”

 

“Apparate outside of town and walk. It’s not bad.” She was silent for a moment, chewing on a thought. “How long can you guys stay?”

 

Ron’s lips pulled into a tight line. “Just ‘til morning. Mad-Eye said no exceptions. With Malfoy here, we might get to sneak back a bit more often.” Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she rested her head there. “Miss you,” he mumbled into her curls.

 

His confession made her tense, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I miss you guys, too. Wish I could be with you out there.”

 

Ronald scoffed and released her. “Trust me, it’s better you’re not. I wish they’d take all girls out of the field.”

 

“ _ Ronald _ ! That is so sexist!” she elbowed him in the ribs. 

 

“Ow! It’s not about your capability; don’t misunderstand me. But what happened to Lavender… it’s happening more. These Death Eaters aren’t out just to kill anymore; they are out to capture, to torture. If I have a girl on my team, I can’t concentrate on much else. I never want her out of my sight. It makes me worse.”

 

Hermione felt it in her chest. “That’s horrible. When will this bloody war end? We can’t keep living like this.”

 

“Soon. There are plans, ‘Mione. Just gotta wait for the right time.”

 

“I suppose you can’t tell me anything about it?”

 

“Not a chance, but trust me. It’s almost over.” Ron leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, and she melted into his affection, enjoying his familiar touch. Then his fingers were under her chin and lifting her face to meet his, brushing against hers the way they used to before. But it wasn’t  _ before _ anymore. She had changed, and she wasn’t sure that there was room for kisses in her life now. 

 

Finally, she turned away, blushing. He placed his hands on the counter and sighed. 

 

“Is it because you’re not ready? I understand that you’ve been through a lot, and I get that. I can wait. Or is because it’s me? Because if it’s me–” Her eyes locked on his icy blue stare, on the way he memorised her face like it was the last time. “Then there’s not much I can do about that.” 

 

She hesitated. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Is it… is it okay that I don’t know right now?”

 

“Hermione, I’ve known you since we were kids.” He sighed. “You know everything. We are at the end of the world, and I could walk out of that door and never see you again. I could be blasted to bits by some foul Death Eater tomorrow. If you don’t  _ know _ ? If that doesn’t affect you the way it affects me? Then it’s just me, and I have to be okay with that.”

 

Her chest fissured, her heart splintering deep inside her and she wanted desperately to tell him what he wanted to hear. “That’s not fair! What a rotten thing to say.” Hermione wiped traitorous tears from her cheeks.

 

“It’s okay for your answer to be no, ‘Mione, but I can’t keep waiting for it to change to a yes, because at this point I don’t think it ever will.”

 

She let out a strangled sob. “You know I love you, right?”

 

“I do.” He wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her as she cried, staining his shirt, and when she was surrounded by him, she realised how safe she was. She panicked at the thought of losing him. “It might be… it might be yes! I just don’t know yet. I need time.” She was on the verge of hysteria now. “It might be a yes,” she repeated through her tears. 

 

“Shh, shh, okay. It might be yes,” he lied, consoling her. 

 

After what seemed forever, she removed herself from his embrace. 

 

“I’m going to run up the store for you, okay? Get some stuff for the coming weeks,” Ron offered, and she replied with a stiff nod, still wiping away her tears. 

 

 

* * *

  
  


The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. There was a quietness in their time together that normally would have been uncharacteristic, but it felt necessary here. It was impossible for the boys to remark on their day to day lives without bringing the realities of war into a harsh spotlight, and Hermione truthfully didn’t have much to speak on. 

 

They chewed on cold turkey sandwiches when a rasping cough sounded from the triage room. They paused, their eyes darting between each other, and dropped their food onto their plate, chairs scratching against the wood floor.

 

Malfoy had perched onto his elbow, and he was hunched over gasping for breath. Harry and Ron paused at the door while Hermione rushed to his side, cradling the back of his neck and summoning a cup of water to relieve him.  

 

He drank greedily, water spilling out the corners of his mouth until he was coughing again. 

 

“Malfoy, you’re safe. You’re with the Order,” Ron reassured him, just a step behind Hermione. 

 

“Harry, grab the Strengthening Solution, will you? It’s just on the counter.” Hermione’s chin ticked towards the kitchen, and Harry obeyed without hesitation. 

 

“Where am I?” Draco fell back against his pillow, his chest heaving.

 

“You’re at a safe house with the Order.. You’re gonna to be alright.” 

 

A moment stretched on, and without warning, his face twisted into an angry snarl. “I fucking told you, Weasel. You never fucking listen.”

 

“Hey! I  _ did _ listen! It was Moody, and you bloody well know it. I  _ tried _ to get you out. Hell, I  _ did  _ get you out.”

 

“Yeah, really good job there, mate. Brilliant job. I especially liked the bit where you left me to be tortured for a few weeks first.” Even in his obvious pain, Malfoy pulled off an impressive level of sarcasm that made Hermione chuckle into her palm. 

 

“Granger?” He regarded her like she might be a figment of his imagination, his brows furrowed and low over his eyes, his upper lip pulled up high like a fishhook was snagged in it.

 

“She’s the reason you’re still breathing, mate. Be nice.” Ron scoffed with a twitch of his brow and perched on the side of the bed. 

 

“I’m always nice.” Draco snorted indelicately and then winced, clutching at his abdomen as Harry returned. 

 

“This should help your strength return. You’ll need three doses, to be administered every twelve hours. Dose one… ready?” Hermione offered, her lips pursed and brows tight. 

 

“Can hardly wait.” He responded with a heavy roll of his eyes and a sneer. “On with it, Granger.” 

 

The vial tipped past his lips, and he rested back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed in relief. “I need to be briefed.”

 

“Later. Get some rest.” 

 

The three of them made to leave the room, filing out when his hands shot out. “Wait!” he croaked. “My wand?”

 

Ron and Harry grinned at each other, and Ron reached into his back pocket. “Those fucking idiots kept a cupboard of belongings to the prisoners right by the gatekeeper.” Draco snatched it hungrily and clasped it to his chest. 

 

“Lucius?” Draco’s eyes started fluttering. The potion would strengthen him over time, but right now all of the potion was being redirected where it mattered, his liver, his spleen, his heart, and his lungs. 

 

“Last we heard, he was alive. Your mum, too. We did rescue you from the dungeons, so it’s safe to say that they know you were taken by us. By the look of you, they didn’t need much proof that you’d flopped sides, but it’s safe to say this drives it home.”

 

“Can you get to them?” Malfoy’s pale face was etched with a deep concern that seemed out of place to Hermione as she studied him.

 

“Would they come if we could?” Harry raised an eyebrow, his voice skeptical.

 

“Good point. Okay, sleep now – brief later. Thanks for saving me, arseholes. You aren’t as stupid as I originally figured you were.” Malfoy’s body went near limp as he tugged the quilt up over his torso. 

 

“Remind me to punch you later,” Ron said lightly. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, punch me while I’m down. The only way you’d get a hit in.” Malfoy smirked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Shitheads! I’m up! Come tell me what happened!!” 

 

The three of them were sitting on the couch in silence, Ron and Harry playing Muggle Chess much to Ron’s chagrin, and Hermione curled in the corner with a book open and her feet resting in Ron’s lap. 

 

“You guys go on.” Hermione nodded as they stood. “I have Goosegrass that needs tending.” 

 

She parted ways with the boys, walking out into the warm May evening. The sun had set, but its lingering light was still illuminating the ocean below. A few lazy gulls soared along the crashing tide.

 

The problem wasn’t him staying through recovery; when her hands and mind had a purpose she could accomplish anything. What she didn’t know was how to handle the after and not knowing how long that part was going to last. 

 

From what the boys said, he wasn’t safe in the other safehouses. Maybe they’d be able to find something like the Cliffhouse for him? Somewhere off the map and safe from the war and prying eyes.

 

Then it dawned on her. 

 

This was the Order’s house; it wasn’t even really hers. Being asked to take care of him was nothing more than cordiality. They were well within their rights to insist, and it might go smoother for Hermione if she just agreed. She might be able to set the tone of the stay. 

 

She stood without singing to the Goosegrass and marched back into the house. She stopped outside of the cracked door and eavesdropped for a moment, her fingers resting lightly on the door frame.

 

“Where in the fuck am I supposed to go? This whole arrangement was set up on the fact that I not only got out, but I’d be taken care of. I risked my arse for you guys; you have no idea what I’ve been through!”

 

“Malfoy, what do you want us to do? We’ve bloody tried! If she says no, we can’t make her.”

 

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. “You don’t have to make me do anything. You can stay. But we need some boundaries.” When no one spoke, she continued. “You will not speak disrespectfully to me or about me. When you are better, you  _ will _ contribute to the house, help cook and clean, tend the garden, help with potions, etcetera. If there are patients that come in, I’ll require your help.” 

 

Draco sucked his tongue between his teeth, his eyes flashing at her. 

 

“Can you agree to those terms?”

 

“I guess I don’t have any other choice,” Malfoy said with a tight jaw.  

 

“No, you don’t.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts and reviews put the biggest smile on my face! I'd love to know what you think :D


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to Ravenslight. You are the realest of rockstars.

May 27th, 2003

 

At two o’clock in the morning, Hermione’s vine wood began vibrating on her night table. It was time for Draco’s next dose of Strengthening Solution.

 

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she smiled at the pair of boys dozing on the couch. Ron was snoring, his limbs splayed and hanging off the worn cushions, while Harry looked as though he nodded off mid-sentence, still sitting with his head lolled to the side. Too soon, they’d be gone again – back to headquarters and the war front. 

 

Her mind floated back to the conversation between her and Ron last night, and when she remembered the way that his eyes clouded when he spoke about the chance that he might not see her again, a bit of her heart fissured. Until that point, they had been indestructible throughout their entire friendship, and to her, it only made sense that the streak continue. Today, in this new and terrifying world that none of them recognized, nothing was guaranteed. 

 

In any war there was risk, but these two idiots were the prized pig of each battle. They had the largest targets on their backs; for capture or kill, it didn’t matter which. 

 

With a sad shake of her head, she walked into Malfoy’s room and yelped, jumping back at the sight of him. He was upright, a book perched in his lap. 

 

“Oh,” she panted, “you’re awake.” Her eyes studied him – still abnormally pale, his only colour the dark purple circles under his eyes and the bruises littered over his entire body. “Time for your potion.” She yawned. 

 

“Thanks,” he clipped, his eyes barely raising to greet her. “I think I can manage.” 

 

She gulped and took a tentative step into the room. The potion hadn’t been the only reason for the visit. “Do you mind if I look over your wounds? I normally do a quick check before you get your dose.”

 

His face pinched, and he closed the book in his lap. “Erm, is it necessary?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Right.” Hermione makes her way further into the room, stopping next to his bedside. “Since you’re already seated, let’s check your shoulder. I repaired it when you first arrived, but since you’ve been unconscious, we haven’t had a chance to check your mobility. It might be a little tender,” she warned gently. 

 

He raised his back off of the pillows with some grumbled effort, and the blankets fell around his waist. 

  
  


Placing a hand on the muscle that connected his neck and shoulder, she pressed down gently, earning a hiss from her bruised patient. With a concerned pull of her brows, she helped him through the assessment, frowning when he couldn’t complete a full rotation. 

 

“You’ll need to work on the movement.” She lowered his arm to his side while he craned his neck, his face pulling in discomfort. “The more you practice, the less tight it’ll feel. A few times a day, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, got it.” He reached for his book again, the  _ Healing Herbology _ book she must have left on the nightstand. “That it?”

 

Her chocolate eyes went wide. “Well, no. You’ll need to lie back. I need to check your internal injuries.”

 

Draco let an annoyed groan but obeyed. Hermione’s lips twitched in amusement as he stared up at the ceiling like a petulant child.

 

With mild hesitation, she gently placed her hands on his chests. Under her tentative touch, his muscles constricted as he sucked in a sharp breath of air. She quickly removed them, startled. 

 

“Damn Granger, can’t you rub your hands a bit together first? Your fingers are fucking freezing,” he chastised, still starting at the popcorned ceiling. 

 

She narrowed her eyes at him and returned her palms firmly to his stomach, the muscles tightening again as he grumbled and flexed. 

 

“ _ Injuriam Revelare _ ,” she recited, her eyes closed. As the spell worked its way through his system, she couldn’t help but smile – her regimen was working. She was healing him, and something about the power in that statement healed something in her. 

 

“That has got to be the strangest thing I’ve ever felt,” he murmured, and her eyes popped open. 

 

“What?”

 

“That spell. I can… I don’t know how to describe it. I can feel your magic spreading through me. I’ve never felt anything like it.” 

 

Hermione hadn’t thought of that. Odd. 

 

With an assenting hum, she began reciting healing spells and announced that she was finished. She didn’t leave. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, giving a small smile when he glared at her before swallowing his potion.

 

“Why were you awake?”

 

He gave an indelicate snort. “Should be obvious. Couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Would you like a Dreamless Sleep? I’ve got it by the crate,” she offered. 

 

“No. I hate the stuff.”

 

Her nose wrinkled. “Does it make you feel groggy?”

 

“No. I’ll be fine, thanks,” he rushed and thumbed through his book, retrieving his previous page. She stood grinning. “Why are you smiling?” He squinted at her. 

 

She turned over her shoulder briefly. “Draco Malfoy – as I live and breath – thanking me? I never thought I’d see the day. Until tomorrow, Malfoy.”

 

He sneered. “Night, Granger.”

 

\----

 

Hermione awoke just a few hours later, Harry and Ron looming over her. She squacked, scrambling in her sheets and reaching for her wand. Ron laughed and reached out to calm her, her curls suffocating the pair of them. 

 

“Shite!” she batted at him as her breath evened out. “I almost hexed you!”

 

“‘Mione,” Harry said lowly, and her heart sank. “We’ve got to go.”

 

“So soon?” She sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Can you stay for breakfast at least?” She knew the answer already, but even the question delayed the inevitable.

 

“Sorry, ‘Mione.” A corner of Ron’s mouth tugged down, the lines of his lips puckering. 

 

Hermione stood and squeezed both of their necks at the same time, all three of their heads knocking together. 

 

“Come back soon?” Her voice trembled as she fought back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

 

The boys exchanged nervous glances. “Soon,” Ron assured her, his cornflower blue eyes tightening. “Here.” He reached in his pocket and produced the charmed coin from the their fifth year. 

 

“Where’d you get this?” Her eyes went wide as she greedily snatched it from his palm, turning it over in her hands. 

 

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes. “From our trunks at the Burrow.  _ Some _ of us are actually sentimental.”

 

Ron’s calloused fingers closed overs. “Activate it if you need us. We’ll try our best to get here as soon as we can.”

 

Wiping a tear from her cheek, she nodded. “Don’t get yourselves killed. And look out for each other. Don’t try to be a hero!” She poked them repeatedly in their sternums, glaring at them with a grave expression. 

 

“We’ll miss you.” Harry squeezed her hand, and his lips pulled into a crooked smile. 

 

“We  _ love _ you,” Ron added, his eyes flamed with intensity that only she understood, even if it made her blush. 

 

“You too, boys.” She gave them a final squeeze, and they Disapparated out of her bedroom, the crack leaving a haunting chill in its wake. 

 

She crawled back into bed, yanking the quilt up to her shoulders and praying for sleep to find her again. It never did. 

  
  


\-----

 

The stairs creaked under her feet just after six in the morning, her mind in a fuzzy state having managed a handful of broken hours of sleep. 

 

When the eggs were sizzling and sausages simmering, she walked over to where Draco was staying and poked her head in. In the four hours since she’d last left him, he hadn’t moved, though he appeared to have found a new book. 

 

“Do you feel up to eating?” Her brows arched as she tried for cordial, but when she looked at him, she still saw the schoolyard prat who called her hair too busy and her teeth too big. He didn’t look the same – maybe the missing sneer changed her perspective on him a bit – but the history was still there. There were many unasked questions still plaguing her, but they’d have to wait.

 

“I’d begun to think you were starving me, Granger.” It was quickly becoming his signature to barely address her when she entered the room, keeping his eyes trained on page in front of him instead. 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, then waddle on out here. Breakfast will be ready in five.”

 

He blanched, finally turning to gape at her. “I can’t come out there,” he protested.

 

“Oh, of course you can. Just one foot in front of the other, now.” She clapped her hands together like she was calling a cat, and he growled at her. 

 

“I’ve barely been awake for twenty-four hours, and you want me to…”

 

“What?” she scoffed. “Walk? Yes. Yes, I’d like to you  _ walk _ to the kitchen. I’m not asking you to trim the bushes.” 

 

Draco bared his teeth at her before pushing up to a seated position, wincing at the strain in his muscles. 

 

Hermione stayed stationary, leaning on the door frame. “Need help?” Hermione offered too sweetly.

 

“Who, me?” He stared at her flatly. “Nah – I’ve been on holiday, as it were, so I’m quite well rested. Never felt better,” he retorted, pushing himself up to stand on wobbly legs. Hermione grimaced as she watched him, his shoulders hunched and his scarred abdomen sunk in. His knees buckled, and before he fell to his knees, she shot to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and bracing his weight against her. 

 

“Don’t go ruining all that hard work I’ve done healing you over your pride. Let’s just get you to the couch; that’ll be enough of an adventure for today.”

 

“If you insist on helping me because of your damned bleeding heart – no other reason – so be it. But I can manage just fine on my own.”  _ Arrogant little prat.  _

 

“I’m sure you can, Malfoy.” She huffed under the extra weight. “Hurry, my sausages are burning.”

 

They made a slow journey to the couch. Hermione inwardly cursed him for moving so slow, as she heard the angry hiss of her breakfast burning from the kitchen. With a clenched jaw, she glanced over her shoulder and saw smoke billowing from her cheap pans. 

 

“Why don’t you just use magic?” He heaved as she helped lower him onto the sofa.  “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ .” The two pans lifted and hovered over the burners as Draco rested back against the slouched cushion, his wand nowhere in sight.

 

“You’re better at wandless spells than I remember.” She stared at him curiously, her eyes lidded and suspicious. 

 

“I didn’t realize you’d paid attention.” He smirked, and she blushed at his insinuation. 

 

Hermione wandered back towards the kitchen and grabbed the pan with eggs and inspected the remains. Blackened eggs were not her favorite, so they went swiftly into the waste bucket. The sausages were perfect, with a crisp char on them, and her stomach grumbled at the sight. She started a new pan of eggs and hummed to herself as she fixed them properly. 

 

In a few minutes; time, she was walking a plate over to him, topped off with a muffin smothered in strawberry preserves from the farmer’s market. She fell into the upholstered arm chair, her legs curling up under her as she balanced a second plate on her knee. 

 

They ate in a comfortable silence for a long while, neither one daring to break the peace. It was hard to look at him, she found. Every few moments, a flash of a memory would threaten to invade their quiet space, and she’d tamp it back down. If they wanted to move forward into some kind of mutual understanding – or even friendship – there were things to be discussed. However, she hadn’t established that she  _ wanted _ to more forward. 

 

For now, she was still wary to let him inhabit her space. That would need minding first, above all else. 

 

“How often do Twathead and Weasel return?” Draco broke the silence first, pushing an egg-soaked sausage around his plate. 

 

“Not often. It’s a bit bittersweet when they come, actually. They usually bring people who are injured, so it’s good to see them, of course, but the circumstances usually leave a lot to be desired. It’s hard when they leave, too. Sometimes it’s better if they stay away.”

 

“Surprised you’re not out there with them.” He unceremoniously dropped his plate on the table in front of him, the clash of cutlery against porcelain making her skin jump. “Didn’t take you for a benched player.” he said in a dismissive tone. 

 

Her dark eyes flashed dangerously, her chest swelling in a sudden rage that left her breathless. “Well, I actually spent a good amount of time rebounding from a mental breakdown that you assisted in. Nothing  _ quite _ like watching your sister in arms be brutally raped and murdered to really fuck you up.” He physically flinched from her words.

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, stabbing another bite of egg. “I promised myself I wouldn’t go there.” 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered through a tight jaw. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Okay,” he agreed, relief washing over his features.

 

“I’m going to go tend the garden a bit. Do you know how to work the tele?”

 

“I’ll manage. Thanks.”

 

She chuckled, breaking the tension between them as she stood and walked their plates to the kitchen. “Not sure I’ll get used to this,” she said with a shake of her head.

 

“Used to what?”

 

“You not being a complete prat. I mean, you’re still a prat… but not  _ completely _ .” It was almost teasing, and as the door swung closed behind her, she was struck by the improbability of it all working itself out. 

  
  


\------

 

June 2, 2003

 

Against all odds, the unlikely pair fell into a comfortable routine over the following week. Draco would wander between his room and the couch, and Hermione carried on her daily life, sometimes joining him in the late afternoon to read in quiet. She’d made her personal library available to him, and while it was certainly impressive, she knew that Malfoy Manor boasted the largest private library in the United Kingdom.

 

Days stretched on, but there was no word from the boys. She tried to remind herself that no news was good news, but it was difficult to be so cut off from the world, and her anxiety felt on the verge of overwhelming her. She found herself perched in the high crass on the moors far too often, staring at the crashing waves below and wondering what chaos was awaiting for her friends.

 

Having recently discovered the magic of the television, Draco lounging in the front room, his feet propped up on the coffee table and his hands resting behind his head. 

 

His relaxed demeanor did nothing but infuriate the curly-haired witch, and as a quiet anger bloomed in her chest, she took deep sobering breaths. As hellbent as she had been to make their interactions generally pleasant, the boy was spoiled. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head as she wiped down the counter top with a wet rag. 

 

“Malfoy,” she called cheerfully. No response, “Malfoy.  _ MALFOY! _ ” 

 

“Merlin, WHAT?!” he shouted back at her, and her mouth fell open.

 

“Excuse me? Do  _ not _ yell at me!” She stamped her foot petulantly and nearly growled at him. 

 

Draco barked a laugh. “Are you serious?” He sat up and turned around in his chair to glare at her. “It was in response to  _ you _ yelling at  _ me _ .”

 

Hermione glowered at him, but he responded with a shrug and returned to an inclined position. “I  _ know _ you are mostly healed. You ought to start helping out.”

 

“ _ Ah _ , you know, I thought you might start on about that. And honestly, I was going to help – I do  _ love _ tedious house chores and all that – but you do such a good job, Granger. I’d just muck it all up.” He waved his hand over his head, and she had a very real inclination to hex it until it was swollen and covered in painful blisters. 

 

“How incredibly thoughtful of you,” she said, her words dripping with fake sincerity. He sat up again and turned to smirk at her, his lips pulling into a playful grin. 

 

“I’m so glad you’ve finally seen what I’ve been saying all along. I’m quite the catch, Granger. Thoughtful, wealthy, charming...” He winked at her as his voice trailed off. 

 

“I think I’m going to be sick…” She paled and dropped her rag in the sink, heading for the garden.

 

“Not to mention sexy!” he called after her. 

 

“Scratch that.  _ Definitely _ going to be sick.” As the door clanged behind her, she swore she could hear his smug chuckles chasing her from her home. 

  
  


\-----

 

Later that evening, Hermione fluttered about the kitchen, pouring a bowl of freshly grated parmesan into her creamy, freshly made sauce and casting a spell to lazily turn her fettuccine noodles in the boiling water. 

 

Malfoy had since begun the second installment of The Lord of The Rings trilogy and was watching in an awed trace as the characters went to war. 

 

“Granger! Why doesn’t this wizard just use his magic?” he called from his seemingly permanent seat on the couch. 

 

“I don’t know,” she said. 

 

“What do you mean you don’t know? I thought you were supposed to be clever.” His voice had a condescending snag to it, and she sucked in a long breath through her nose as she dumped the noodles into the colander. 

 

“Being clever has nothing to do with knowing what the author was thinking. And,” she added, her voice rising an octave, “The author is far more clever than you or I, so it’s bad taste to question his motives.”

 

She garnished her steaming bowl of pasta with a pinch of fresh parsley and piled her dishes in the sink. She’d set a cleaning charm later when she had her wand on her again.

 

Draco stared at her with an accusing glare as she sat at the dining table and opened her book, swallowing a large bite with a delighted little hum. 

 

“Excuse me?” He gave an indignant little snort, his lip pulling up into a sneer.

 

“Yes?”

 

“And where is my food?”

 

Hermione tried to hide her budding smile as she looked between her houseguest and the kitchen. “Did you make any? I must have missed that.” She shrugged and turned away from him again, devouring another creamy bite.

 

“Granger. I’m _ ill _ . You’re meant to be helping me.”

 

“I  _ have _ been helping you, Malfoy. I’ve been helping you for over a week! And in my very humble opinion, you’re very capable of making yourself dinner.”

 

Malfoy huffed, “Nothing about you has ever been  _ humble,  _ first of all. Second, you can’t be serious. You really didn’t make me anything?”

 

Hermione clucked her tongue. “You’ll find I don’t really  _ do _ joking.” She shrugged with a twitch of her lips. “Really don’t have the right temperament for it, I’m afraid.”

 

“Do you really want to do this?” Draco set his chin smugly, and she gave him a withering look. “ _ Accio _ bowl.” 

 

With a gasp, Hermione clawed at the dish as it flew off the table and out of her hands straight into Malfoy’s waiting lap. 

 

“Send that back. Now,” she managed through a clenched jaw, her fist closing around her dripping fork.

 

“Oh.  _ Accio _ fork.” The fork followed the bowl, and Hermione pushed away from the table, sure steam was escaping her ears. She marched over to the couch and stood crossly in front of him. 

 

“Give it back,” she demanded.

 

“Um. How about  _ no, _ Granger.” He fixed her with a mocking pout. “Can’t have your patience withering away, could you?” He stabbed the pasta with his newly acquired fork and was seconds away from putting it in his mouth. 

 

“Don’t. You. Dare,” she warned, her lips pulled back to bare her teeth in a snarl. 

 

He smirked and then shoved the forkful in and moaned. “Oh,  _ Merlin _ . This is good. Seriously, Granger. Have you thought about being a cook? I could hire you after this whole mess is finished.” He shoveled another bite in. 

 

Hermione turned and stomped up the stairs, muttering uncharacteristic obscenities with each step. In turn, Draco happily gorged himself on the homemade pasta, watching as the strange elf hopped lithely from the battlements in the film. She returned moments later, pink in the cheeks and pointed her wand at his face with a smug expression. 

 

“WHOA! Granger!”

 

“ _ Langlock _ !” 

 

Draco quickly made a garbled sound, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tried to speak. 

 

He was mumbling some type of profanity, but Hermione ignored him and grabbed the bowl from his hands. She inspected the fork, cast a cleaning charm on it, and sat ungracefully at the end of the couch, staring at him with a wide grin as she took a bite. 

 

Draco’s protests were getting louder and more annoying by the minute. “ _ Finite Incantatem _ ,” she said offhandedly, “That should teach you to—”

 

“ _ Augamenti Maximum _ ,” he interrupted, standing as water poured from the end of his wand and dumped onto Hermione’s head. 

 

“ARE YOU MAD?! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” she shouted, slashing wildly through the water in the air around her. Draco was laughing maniacally at this point, and she stood quickly and sat right next to him so their sides were touching and he was unable to cast without drenching himself.

 

“Argh, shove off! You’re soaked!” he grumbled, pushing at her and the bowl of watery pasta.

 

“Fat chance! If I go over there, you’ll attack me again.” 

 

“ _ Go _ !”

 

“ _ Aribus _ !” she cast with a pompous pout of her lips.

 

“Really? You want to continue this?” He challenged, as his ears started burning a bright red. He tugged and itched at them furiously and then gave her a wicked smile. “ _ Rictemsempra _ !”

 

Hermione broke out into a fit of giggles, as if a hundred fingers were tickling every inch of her skin. She wiggled and fought against it finally falling on the floor in hysterical laughter, kicking her feet into Malfoy, who was still scratching at his ears with a scowl painted on his face. 

 

“ _ Stop _ ! Call it off!” she managed between laughs, her sides catching a stitch as she doubled over on herself.

 

“You first!” he demanded, his ears flaming a vibrant red. “And get your disgusting feet off me!” 

 

“PLEASE! I promise!” She laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

“ _ Finite _ !”

 

Suddenly, the sensation was gone, but Hermione let out a few lingering belly laughs that were hard to shake away. 

 

“Granger!”

 

“Right.  _ Finite Incantatem _ ,” she panted from her position on the floor. “Merlin. I haven’t laughed in ages.” She giggled again. “Even if it was fake, it felt nice.”

 

“Well, next time hit me with one of those. It feels like a nest of fire ants has taken up residence in my ears.”

 

Rolling her eyes severely, she pushed her bowl of watered down fettuccine away from her. “I’m still hungry. My pasta is ruined. Do you want pizza?”

 

“Pizza?”

 

Hermione shoved up on her elbows, staring at him in bewilderment. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pizza!”

 

“Does it sound like I know what the bloody hell pizza is?” he sneered. 

 

“I’m going to get pizza. I’ll be back, I just have to pop into town.”

 

“Fine. It better be good… I’m starving.”

 

“Oh, it’ll be life changing, Malfoy.”

 

“I think I’ve had enough life changing moments for a few years.”

 

She turned to regard him, wondering if he really had changed all that much at all. There may have been a time he would've cursed her hair to fall out rather than to tickle her. Maybe that counted for something.

 

“I’ll be back in little bit – with the life changing pizza.” She grinned and snatched her bag from the peg by the door as he watched her go, a curious pull to his brows.

 

\----

 

“Wow.”

 

“I know.”

 

“No. I mean…  _ wow _ . After this war, I’m marching straight into Gringotts, withdrawing a large sum, and then opening a Pizza shop on Diagon Alley. I’ll be rich.”

 

“You are rich.” She frowned, munching on the tail end of her pizza crust. 

 

“Rich- _ er _ , which is a very good thing to be.” He grinned. 

 

“You’re less of a bastard now,” she regarded, grabbing another slice. 

 

“I’m still a bastard. Just about less important things. For instance, I still think your hair is housing several small creatures, but I  _ don’t _ think you feed on feces.” He took another giant bite. 

 

“I guess I’ll just take what I can get,”

 

“That’d be your best bet, Granger.”

 

A loud crash filled the room, distracting them from their surprisingly amicable banter, and Hermione dropped her food onto the floor in surprise. 

 

“ _ Hermione! _ ” 

 

Feet from them, Ron was buckling under the weight of a limp, middle-aged man, her friend carrying all of his weight. Draco rushed to his side and helped to shoulder some of it, taking the unconscious man’s arm around his shoulder. Hermione froze as her eyes locked on the gaping wound at his neck, blood staining the front of him. 

 

“Ron.” She gulped, she hadn’t seen – she wasn’t prepared – “Who is that?”

 

“He’s an Auror, and he needs help. Dolohov – that fucking bastard – caught him with a slashing curse across the blasted neck.” 

 

Draco and Ron, now covered in the man’s blood, laid him unceremoniously on the floor.

 

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes, praying for strength when she clearly had none. When she opened them, she inspected his gray skin and dull, blank eyes. 

 

She pushed two trembling fingers above the slash on his neck, looking for a pulse in his still warm blood. The check was for Ron, but there was no pulse. She knew it before she touched him; the cut was so deep she could see through to the back of his neck. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Ron. He’s gone.”

 

“No. Hermione, you check again,” Ron choked, and when she didn’t immediately move, he repeated himself, “ _ Check again _ !” he cried in hysteria.

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll check again.” 

 

She repeated it and looked for a pulse. Nothing. She gave a final shake of her head, and Ron buried his face in the crook of his arm.

 

“Fuck!” he cursed under his breath, lifting his face to stare at his fallen brother. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his palms covered in blood. “I’ll bring him back to the field. He’ll be collected there. His family will want him.  _ Fuck _ .”

 

“I’m so sorry, Ron.”

 

“I’ll be back soon. I hope.” He didn’t look back at them, just stared at the blood on his hands while he grit his jaw. The pop signaling his departure made her jump. 

 

Hermione was left kneeling in a pool of the fallen Auror’s blood. She stared at her bloodied hands, lost in a trance and having forgotten Draco was still with her. 

 

“ _ Tergeo _ ,” he cast from beside her, and the blood siphoned away from her skin, disappearing from her palms and knees in front of her, though she swore she could still see where it stained if she looked hard enough.

 

It took only a moment, and the kitchen was as it was before. 

 

But Hermione wasn’t. 

 

She was somewhere else, holding a girl who had died in a forest all alone. 

 

“Come on, Granger. Up we go.” 

 

Draco’s hands were under her arms, lifting her to her feet. She wasn’t sure how, but she was obeying – she was moving. He steered her towards and up the stairs and finally to her bedroom. 

 

She trembled in his arms and barely registered his soothing palm as it ran over her shoulder. 

 

She fell into bed, and Draco draped a throw blanket over her quivering body. She thought he’d leave, but he instead settled into the chair by the door, which was hardly meant for sleeping.

 

“You don’t have to stay,” she whispered, her eyes wide and staring at her closet door.

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

Neither of them slept for a long time, but sometime in the early hours of morning, she finally fell into a fitful bout of rest.

 

When Hermione woke with a clear head early in the morning, Draco was there. A book laid across his chest and small snores escaped his open mouth. She sat up and removed her blanket, laying it across him. She then crawled back into her bed and watched him until her eyes felt heavy again. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting a fun little one shot for my lovely's betas birthday tomorrow!! If you are into the bedsharing trope, be sure to follow my page so you can follow along! 
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!


	7. 7

June 10th, 2003

 

Tiptoeing into the darkened kitchen, Hermione flicked on the light under the cabinets. Her stomach had been growling since midnight, and after tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she had decided it was officially time to raid the kitchen. 

 

She munched on a plate of stale cookies while some milk came to a boil on the stovetop. She gasped as she flipped the book she’d left on the counter and noticed the edge had been dog-eared.

 

“What kind of uncivilised heathen—” she mumbled to herself. 

 

“You wouldn’t be talking ill of Potter and Weasel behind their backs now, would you?”

 

With a yelp, Hermione quite nearly jumped out of her skin at the very sudden proximity of her blond roomate. 

 

“Of course not.” Hermione sent him a withering sneer. “I was talking about you. Why do you insist on ruining my things?”

 

“Ruining?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Don’t be dramatic. Now, do tell, what are you whipping up at this ungodly hour?”

 

“I am making a cup of hot chocolate  _ for myself.  _ I am making you nothing. Although, I might decide to gift you a bump on the head if you don’t stop irritating me at all hours of the night.”

 

The dance between them had become routine over the past weeks. Something would bring them both into the kitchen at their witching hour, which hovered around two o’clock in the morning. Their late-night interactions were mostly brief and uneventful, save a nasty thunderstorm the week prior that had left Hermione in a ball of nerves on the sofa. Draco had quietly taken a seat next to her on the armchair and, without prompting, turned a movie up blaringly loud in an attempt to drown out the rain. 

 

“Come off it, Granger. Can’t you just make me a cup? I’m withering away under your tender care. I’ve lost so much weight I look nearly pubscent.”

 

Hermione chuckled to herself as she poured the steaming milk into her mug and then proceeded to stir in the chocolate powder. “Do you really think a single cup of hot chocolate is going to pudge you up again?”

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously thin. “ _ Pudge?” _ His lips wrapped around the world like a curse. “Take that back.”

 

Cradling the mug to her mouth and inhaling deeply, she finally conceded with a roll of her eyes. “I guess you can use my leftover milk.”

 

“How generous of you,” he mocked, his lips twisting into a sneer as she found a seat on the sofa with her now-damaged book. 

 

She waved him off with a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it.”

 

After some shuffling in the kitchen, Draco joined her in the sitting room, a half-drank cup of hot chocolate resting on his knee as he watched her. “No sleep again tonight, Granger?”

 

“Do I ever?”

 

“Why don’t you take that Dreamless Sleep you’re always trying to shove down my throat?”

 

Hermione’s eyes tightened just slightly, but before she remarked on it, she shook her curls out and wrapped the throw blanket around her legs. 

 

“Oh, come on now. Don’t be like that. I thought we were friends.” His sock clad toe reached over and nudged her foot, and she nearly growled at him. 

 

“Why don’t  _ you _ take it?” she asked, her voice clipped and lips pursed tightly. 

 

“I told you already: it reminds me too much of death. Sometimes after I take some, it’s weird… I’m lucid but I can’t wake myself. It feels like it goes on forever,” Draco’s brow furrowed and Hermione’s breath caught in throat, sobered my his confession.

 

She squinted as she watched him the darkness, his eyes trained on some invisible point, lost in a memory she’d never know about it. 

 

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath before beginning. “The same for me. I get trapped in dreams and more often than not, they aren’t pleasant ones.”

 

“I can hear your nightmares you know.” His voice was low in the dim room, and she could feel his words against her skin. 

 

“I can hear yours too.” She didn’t lift her eyes from the book in her lap, but she didn’t read anything either. They sat together on for a long time, long enough that she drifted off with the mug in her hands and the book tipped on the floor. 

 

Too soon, the sunrise broke through the windows, and she jolted awake. Her book was missing from her chest, and something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in chest as she spotted Malfoy unfurled in the arm chair, his head lolled to the side, a soft snore leaving his lips. 

 

She sat up, stretching the sleep from her spine, and she froze, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth when she saw her book had been placed on the coffee table, a bookmark where she had fallen asleep instead of a dog-eared page. 

 

* * *

 

June 12th, 2003

 

Hermione had a book propped up against a particularly long stem of Hailey’s Root. Her hair was piled messily on the crown of her head, and she was wearing her  – possibly too short  – denim shorts that seemed to always accompany her into the garden these days. 

 

According to this particular book, the Chinese Chomping Cabbage needed to be planted in midday sun and no closer or further than exactly six inches apart. Their roots were meant to intertwine and give strength to the lot. 

 

Digging the holes wasn’t necessarily strenuous work, but it was tedious and with a sigh, she dragged the back of her soiled hand along her forehead. After several hours she had twenty-five identical plots for the cabbage seedlings, and one by one, she deposited a single seed and covered it with the surrounding dirt. 

 

As she sifted the damp soil between her fingers, her body tensed, and she clenched her eyelids shut as a visceral memory played out. She could see Lavender’s blonde tresses mixed in the dirt, her lifeless eyes never again blinking. 

 

“Hermione!” A familiar voice broke through, and although her heart raced dangerously in her ribcage, she managed a smile as Neville rounded the corner of the house wearing a giant grin and a large canvas tote slung over one arm. 

 

“Neville.” She grinned and pushed up off her knees, running into his arms and squeezing him breathless. It was rare that her friends visited her when they weren’t bleeding out. “How are you?”

 

“We’re hanging in there.” He hugged her tightly before placing her back on the ground. 

 

Hermione’s eyes darted towards the screen door that led back into the cottage, and her throat tightened. She wasn’t sure if Neville was cleared to know that Draco was staying here, but it seemed a problematic situation that could be avoided as long as a certain blond stayed hidden from sight. 

 

Hermione’s eyes flashed back to her friend, and she smiled up at him.  “So tell me, what do I owe the pleasure?” 

 

“Garden supplies.” He proffered the tote to her and she took it happily, even as it crashed to the earth from the sheer weight of its contents. “Although, it seems you’re doing brilliantly without any help from me.” 

 

“Ah, I assure you it is only  _ because _ of you.” Hermione knelt to inspect the contents: seedling packets and a few bulbs. Vials, two new mortar and pestles, tools for digging, and at the bottom, she nearly gasped as she snatched up the labeled containers. “Powdered Unicorn horn? Moonstone? Neville,” she breathed, her eyes wide in awe. “How on earth did you manage—” 

 

“I wish I could take the credit, but I’m just the delivery boy. Ron procured them during a raid and said to make sure you make  _ yourself _ Draught of Peace with those.” Neville pointed to the rare ingredients in her palm and she felt a tear slide from the corner of her eye. 

 

“Tell Ron I’ll try,” she sniffed. Her friend’s unending thoughtfulness filled an empty space inside of her, and although there was no way she’d use the draught for herself, the gesture was enough to bring her a semblance of peace. “Can you stay for lunch? I’m almost finished here, and I don’t mind whipping us something up.”

 

“Wish I could, but there’s a brief happening soon about our mission tonight.” 

 

Hermione stiffened next to him, and her eyes studied his face, searching in vain for a clue about what they would be doing. “Nothing too dangerous, I hope.”

 

“Of course not! When do we ever do anything dangerous?” He nudged her playfully with his elbow. “So enjoy the supplies, and Professor Sprout said she was gathering some stuff for you as well – we’ll make sure that makes it up here as well.”

 

“Brilliant. I was just getting the Chomping Cabbage in the dirt, and I’m hoping they take; I’ve read they are quite fickle.” 

 

“Ah, brewing Skele-gro, I take it? And yes, quite fickle. Water them constantly until they flower – even at night. Do you want a charm for it?”

 

She shook her head and turned towards her sprawling plot of earth, levying a deep sigh. “I think I’ll do it by hand. It’s good for me.” 

 

“That it is.” He slung his arm over her shoulder and gave her a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you soon, Hermione. I’ll try to manage a longer visit next time.” 

 

Hermione loved Neville’s easy charm, and as he retreated back towards the front of the house, she called out after him. “Be safe!” A warning and a prayer. 

 

“Always am!” He called back with a grin. 

 

* * *

 

 

While tending to the cabbage that night, she gasped when a hysterical shriek cut through the silence of the night. It wouldn’t be illogical for her to have imagined it, and she stared at the full moon for a few counts, waiting for something to tell her it existed only her mind. 

 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and when a matching yell pierced through her, the watering can clattered to her feet, and she sprinted towards the front of the house. Her eyes darted around the scene in front of her, unable to make sense of it all. 

 

Luna was back, her brow dripping blood and her eyes wide and frantic. She stumbled forward, and with the help of Ron, they shouldered the weight of a man, unconscious between them. 

 

“‘Mione!” Ron shouted from the lawn, and Hermione rushed to Luna’s side, taking the weight from her, and when Hermione’s eyes washed over the man propped between them, she felt herself go weak. “He’s been hit. We don’t know with what. There are dozens more, and we can’t bring them here because of…” Ron’s eyes flickered to the front door, non-verbally acknowledging Malfoy inside. “But we need to you be with Neville.”

 

“Of course,” Hermione reassured him as they rushed in the front door. Her eyes darted around the room, and she heaved a sigh of relief when she confirmed that Draco was still hidden in his room. 

 

Luna rushed behind them, and when Neville was placed on the kitchen table, she pushed the hair from his eyes, her fingers leaving a wet trail of warm blood in their wake. 

 

“Nev… Neville…” Luna’s hovered over him, her worried brow low over her pale eyes, and she placed a hard kiss on his mouth, tears falling from her face onto his. “Can you hear me? You come back to me, Neville Longbottom. Okay? You don’t get to leave me here.” 

 

Hermione heart fissured as she watched her normally calm and cool-headed friend weep over the man on the table, and Ron rested his hands on Luna’s quivering shoulders. 

 

“Luna, we’ve got to go back. Other people need you.” Ron’s voice was low, and Hermione’s throat tightened. “Hermione will take care of him. Won’t you ‘Mione?”

 

“Of course, I will. Luna, I promise. I’ll do everything I can.”

 

“Not yet!” Luna screamed over her shoulder and laid her blonde head on his chest, her eyes clenching shut as she strained to hear his heart beating. 

 

“Luna. It’s an order.” Ron’s commanded, and Luna let out a final sob before kissing Neville one more time. “Get the rest of them out of there, but don’t bring anyone here if you can help it. Try Grimmauld and the other safe houses first. Understood?” 

 

Luna stepped back, her spirit shattered as she ripped herself from Neville’s side, refusing to meet Ron’s eyes, and she sprinted out the front door. 

 

“It was a shit show, Hermione.” Ron dragged her into his arms and squeezed her tightly. “But we took it. We took Malfoy Manor.”

 

Hermione gasped and pushed him back, her heart soaring. “What?”

 

Malfoy Manor had been long considered Voldemort’s headquarters; it was impenetrable. Hermione stiffened when Draco appeared over Ron’s shoulder, moving from the shadows of his room. 

 

“My parents?” Draco’s jaw was set, and Ron let go of Hermione and turned to face Malfoy, a grim set to his mouth. 

 

“They weren’t there. I’m sorry, Malfoy, but we’ve got a dungeon full of new prisoners; one of them will know something. I’m going to find them. Alright?”

 

“Right. What’s wrong with Longbottom?” Draco’s jaw was set fiercely as he stepped up to the table and stared down at the unconscious wizard. 

 

“I don’t know. Figure it out guys; we need him. I’ll be back.” In a moment of familiarity, he reached over to Hermione, cradled the back of her head, and pulled her into his embrace again, placing a firm kiss on her forehead. Draco’s gaze avoided the intimate moment, keeping his eyes trained on Neville and pulling his wand out to assess him. 

 

As Ron rushed from the room, Hermione shook herself into action and stood next to Draco. 

 

“He didn’t know what happened?” Draco asked out of the corner of his mouth. 

 

“They rarely do, unfortunately.”

 

With a soft hand, Draco lifted Neville’s eyelids and inspected him more closely. “Look: his pupils. Dilated and the blood vessels have burst. I can guarantee Cruciatus, but that’s not all. He looks like he was fucking blasted into a wall.  _ Diffindo,  _ maybe?”

 

Hermione placed her hands on his chest, wand trapped between them, and cast  _ Injuriam Revelare. _

 

Slowly, Hermione’s magic poured through his body, only hesitating when two-thirds down his spine. The light swelled around an area her magic wouldn’t touch. 

 

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, her eyes shooting open. “It’s his spine. I don’t know… Draco, I don’t know what to do.” Hermione racked her brain, begging for a spell to appear, but Draco’s hands replaced hers, and with a sure voice, he began an incantation. 

 

“ _ Episkey Maxima Totalum _ ,” he repeated again and again, until his eyes fluttered closed and he staggered. Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him to the couch where he collapsed. 

 

“You rest. I’ll finish.” Hermione watched him warily as his head rested back against the worn cushions of the sofa. 

 

“Don’t. It’ll drain you, and someone needs to care for him if he wakes. Get the potions ready, and I’d be prepared to stun him, if you can.”

 

Hermione gave a solemn nod and made her way back to Neville. “Oh, and Draco?”

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Granger.”

 

Hermione smiled at him as he rested. Draco Malfoy, surprising her again and again. 

 

* * *

  
  


**A/N: Last update for about a week or so lovies! I’m on vacation!! WHOOP WHOOP! I adore all of your reviews, they give me the biggest smiles. Thanks for all your love and support on this rewrite.**

 

**Beta love to the one and only Ravenslight.**

  
  



	8. 8

June 16th, 2003

 

Neville had been under a potion induced coma for just over two days, with Malfoy healing him as often as his own stamina would allow. Malfoy himself was survived on cat naps and Pepper-Up Potions. 

 

Hermione observed cautiously, as the blond continued to surprise her. He was quiet and thoughtful when he tended to Neville, a side she had never expected to bear witness to. 

 

Ron returned the next afternoon, covered in dried blood and looking defeated. Still, there was a quiet excitement in his features as he took Hermione in his arms again. They had stormed, raided, and overthrown Malfoy Manor. In the process, they had taken almost a dozen Death Eaters hostage, and as long as Neville pulled through, they suffered no fatal casualties. 

 

If Hermione was honest, she had never expected him to be such an integral cog in the war effort, and perhaps that was unfair to him. Ron had never been given the opportunity to thrive, and now that he had stepped out from the shadows, he was proving to be more capable than she ever gave him credit for. 

 

Ron didn’t stay, not even long enough to share a bite or clean himself up. He was gone after checking on Neville and pulling Malfoy to the covered deck to fill him in. 

 

Draco exited Neville’s room, a barely-there sheen of sweat across his brow, which he wiped with the back of his hand. 

 

“I think it’s time,” Draco said, wringing his hands like they were soaking. 

 

“You do?” Hermione was skeptical. The injuries to his spine were serious and keeping him under gave him the best chance at recovering.

 

“Yes. But check his injuries again. I can feel the healing charm isn’t taking as much from me anymore, I’m assuming he doesn’t need it as much. If that’s the case, I think we can wake him.” He moved further into the room as he spoke, resting his hip against the edge of the tiled counter next to her.

 

“Alright. I’ll check once this settles,” she said nervously, gesturing to the cauldron, its blood-orange stew bubbling.

 

“Please tell me that’s not dinner.” 

 

“Jerk.” She poked him playfully. “More Pepper-Up.”

 

“Your boyfriend coming back soon?” Draco reached across her and grabbed a green apple from the bowl on the counter, crossing his arm under his elbow and taking a giant, obnoxious bite. 

 

Hermione bristled at his closeness. “I don’t have a boyfriend, obviously.”

 

“Obviously?” He arched an eyebrow at her. 

 

“Yes, _ obviously. _ I’ve been living here all by myself all these months.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a boyfriend. Weasel seems to think otherwise,” Draco replied with a shrug. His lips smacked together, and Hermione found herself noticing that his lower lip was slightly fuller than his top. Interesting, though mostly annoying as he was chomping the food right in her face.

 

“Well, that’s just—” Hermione stuttered. “That’s ridiculous. Ronald’s my friend.”

 

“Oh, come off it! No need to pretend with me. I saw him rubbing all over your face the other night.”

 

“He’s just friendly. There’s nothing going on… romantically. Jesus, does anyone have time for romance?” Hermione realised while she was speaking that she was desperately trying to make herself believe her own words. The unresolved issues between them lingered on and as much as she knew she owed it to Ron to discuss them, she couldn’t. She felt terrified that by saying  _ no _ she’d close the door on their friendship as well. 

 

Draco took the last bite of his apple and launched its core towards the waste bin, which fell into it perfectly. 

 

“I’m sure if the right guy came along, you’d find the time. Maybe everyone has been right all these years, and you really just  _ are _ as clever as they say. Maybe you’re smart enough to realize Weasel’s not good enough for you.” 

 

Hermione felt a heated blush stain her cheeks as a protective rage bloomed in her chest. “It’s not Ronald! He’s lovely. I’m just…” The tail of her sentence trailed off, and she shook her curls out as she continued her endless stirring.

 

“Tell me,” Draco said quietly, looking towards the stairs. It wasn’t a demand or a goad, simply a sincere request that surprised her.

 

Hermione plucked her wand from the counter and cast  _ Motus _ , and the spoon continued to stir in the cauldron as she took her hand away. “I just don’t think that’s meant for me anymore. Love, that is. I’m too… complicated? Broken? I don’t know the right word, but I think maybe I’m meant to stay in this house alone forever.” Hermione paused thoughtfully, avoiding his eye contact and gnawing on her bottom lip. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t love Ron. He loves me. He’s willing to wait for me. He’s a good person. But I’d know, right? I’d know if I loved him.” 

 

Draco snorted delicately, and Hermione swore she could feel the heat from his body through her jumper. “I’m not exactly the one to ask; not sure I’ve loved anyone other than myself.” Hermione chuckled at that, knowing it was a complete lie. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes when he spoke about his parents, his mother in particular. It was clear he loved them. “I can’t offer you much advice, but I  _ can _ tell you that I have a feeling that you're no lost cause.” 

 

Her gaze flickered to his, his grey eyes soft and curious as they studied her. “Do you… you know? Have a girlfriend, then?”

 

His gave her a crooked smile. “In spying for the Order, trying to save my parents and my own tail, I haven’t had much chance for romance myself. But ya know? I’m not giving up just yet either.” Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if she imagined the wink he gave her as he bit down into his lip. “Let me know when you’re ready to wake him. I’m gonna go shut my eyes.”

 

Hermione blinked a few times, trying to shake the tender moment into reality. Taking a deep breath, she watched in disbelief as he jogged up the stairs. 

 

“ _ What in the hell is going on _ ?” she whispered to no one.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometime later, as her cauldron simmered, she returned to Neville’s room and checked his internal injuries. Malfoy was right. He was getting better. 

 

Still, there was something terrifying about attempting to wake him. She wasn’t a trained healer – all of her knowledge was acquired simply from books she had lying around – and she wasn’t sure what she would be met with or if they’d even be able to pull it off. 

 

Her knuckles rapped lightly against the door to Draco’s room, and she fidgeted from foot to foot when there no answer. With a gentle hand she pushed the door open and stepped in. 

 

Draco was sprawled across his bed, clad only in his pajama pants, his shirt discarded on the floor next to the bed. Hermione boasted a rather curious mind, and she inspected the scars littering his torso. She reasoned that was her only motivation. Purely academic, of course. 

 

Sprinkled across his torso were just over half a dozen stab wounds, puckered and pink from being healed. Without thinking she reached her fingers out and touched one close to his belly button. 

 

As soon as her skin made contact, a jolt of static danced across their skin, and Draco’s eyes flew open, his hand snatching her wrist as they gasped in unison. He studied her. His eyes were stormy and confused, but he wasn’t angry. 

 

“S-sorry, I shouldn’t… Um, Neville’s ready,” she blurted and twisted her wrist. He released it, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and she took a step away. “I’m sorry,” she repeated and rushed down the stairs without waiting for his response.

 

Hermione’s eyes blew wide as she picked up a spare bit of parchment and fanned herself maniacally, hoping for the blush to fade from her cheeks before he joined her.

 

The creaking of the stairs behind her notified her she was out of time, and she clenched her eyes shut in embarrassment. 

 

What were the chances that the quiet, thoughtful Draco was behind her instead of the regular cockly one? 

 

“Granger, if you were interested in seeing me shirtless, you only need ask. I’m happy to oblige.” She could hear his smirk, and she whipped her head around, quite ready to quip back at him, but her words stalled in her throat. 

 

Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and each muscle flexed to reveal long, lean lines that disappeared into the waistband of his sweatpants.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened as her mouth went slack. Her eyes lazily dragged down his body and she knew,  _ logically _ , that she needed to say something  _ and _ she needed to stop staring at his stomach. She did only the former.

 

“I, er… I was checking your wounds!” she replied with a haughty tilt of her chin and then grimaced; it was an awful lie.

 

“Ahhh, would you like a better look?” he asked and glided towards her. 

 

“Shut it,” she warned, pointing her wand at his chest. “And put your shirt on!” Her reason had returned and, along with it, her annoyance. 

 

Draco chuckled to himself and lifted his shirt over his head, tugging it over his shoulders. Hermione stole one last glance and saw a bit of curly, dark blond hair peeking out from above his pant line, and she swallowed thickly before turning towards Neville room. 

 

“Are you ready?” she called, refusing to meet his eyes.

 

“Born ready,” he breathed in her ear seductively, somehow gliding up next to her silently, and she yelped before swatting at him with a playful smirk.

 

“Enough! Clearly the isolation is messing with your head. Neville needs you.”

 

“Business first. Play later. Got it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her obnoxiously, and she responded with a roll of her eyes before pushing past him and in to where Neville slept. She paused at his bedside, and Draco stepped next to her, their breath the only noise in the room.

 

“ _ Renervate _ .” Draco twisted his wand in a counterclockwise motion, pointing it directly at Neville’s chest, and the pair of them jumped as a gasp fought its way through Neville’s mouth. His bloodshot eyes burst open, and his hands clutched at his exposed chest. 

 

“Neville! Neville, it’s okay. You’re safe.” Hermione hands found his cheeks and stroked them calmly, beseeching his eyes to settle on hers.

 

“Hermione?” Neville’s hands locked on her wrists, holding them to his face, and he stared frantically at her. 

 

“Yes, you’re at the seaside cottage. You’re alive, and you’re going to be fine.” 

 

Neville fell back against the pillows, and his eyes locked on Draco. The injured wizard’s eyes blew wide, frantic, and a guttural scream clawed its way from his chest. With frenzied hands, he searched his wand, and Hermione thanked her stars she had placed it safely in the kitchen cupboard.

 

Hermione placed her hands on Neville’s bare shoulders to push him back until his shoulders met the mattress. 

 

“Neville! Listen to me.  _ Listen! _ ” Hermione’s voice was near pleading as her hands pressed against his shoulders, trying to get him to relax. “You’re going to injure yourself again, and that would really be a pain in our arses as we’ve spent the last few days healing you.”

 

“He’s a Death Eater! What are you talking about, Hermione? You need to get out of here!” Sweat formed at his hairline, and his entire body shook with fear, both for himself and Hermione.

 

“I can’t explain it all right now. Some rubbish about clearance, but they brought you here so they must think it’s okay for you to know about him. He’s been working for the Order, and he’s been here almost a month. He saved your life, Neville.”

 

“ _ What _ ! Hermione, it’s me. Neville. You may be under an Unforgiveable—”

 

She heard Draco snort over her shoulder at that, and her lips pursed as she realised that convincing Neville was going to be much more difficult than she had thought. 

 

“You know me.” She smiled at her dear friend, cradling his cheek once again. “Trust me.” 

 

Neville studied her, his eyes darting between her and her blond roommate. “I need to be briefed. Immediately. Can you send word to the Order?” 

 

Hermione felt her jaw go slack; it was so unlike Neville to speak this way. But then, it was war, and who was she to pretend to know what he’d seen outside of this tiny cottage. It’s not like she hadn’t had the same reservations about housing Malfoy just a few weeks prior. She nodded stiffly and turned to Malfoy, only to find he was already on his way out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

June 17th, 2003

 

Hermione rested her palm against the wall just next to the door and listened with a frown as they argued.

 

“Listen, I didn’t poison your blasted food!”

 

“And how could I possibly know that?”

 

“I just had a bite in front of you!” 

 

“Maybe you’ve had the antidote,” Neville replied stubbornly. 

 

“Fuck, you’re impossible. Starve, for all I care. Or wait for Granger to wait on you hand and foot.”

 

Hermione hid a chuckle behind her fingertips as Draco stormed out of the downstairs bedroom. 

 

“It’s not funny,” he growled at her.

 

“No, no, of course not. I wonder if you were a petulant child? Maybe this is karma?” she asked with a grin. 

 

He simply mumbled something about  _ stupid-sodding-Gryffindors _ and marched up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

  
  


June 20th, 2003

 

“You should give him a chance,” Hermione mumbled, sitting cross legged at the end of Neville’s bed and speared a bite of roasted chicken with her fork. 

 

“I need to be briefed. Have you gotten ahold of them?” Last night Hermione had finally broken down and activated the coin they had given back to her. There had been no response since, and that was tearing her up. She desperately was trying to keep the fragile edges of her mind from chasing the what-ifs that accompanied their radio silence.

 

“Would it help if I told you he was delivered here by Ron and Harry?” Neville looked up from his plate with a curious expression. “He’s been working for the Order for a long time now. The mission in which Luna was injured? They were trying to extract him, trying to get him out.”

 

Neville’s brows fell low over his blue eyes, and she sighed heavily as she continued.Clearance be damned. 

 

“He was the turning point in this war; he’s done more than any of us could imagine. I’m not saying run off and be his best mate, but maybe don’t accuse him of plotting your murder every other hour. I couldn’t have saved you without him. He made himself sick and exhausted, barely slept, all just to heal you.”

 

Neville’s face pinched as he considered her, but he responded with nothing other than a disgruntled huff as he popped a roasted carrot between his teeth.

 

* * *

 

 

June 21st, 2003

 

“I’m not trying to be a git. But you’re wrong.”

 

“I am  _ not _ wrong,” Neville argued. 

 

Hermione winced as she returned from the garden with a basket of herbs she’d just clipped. She placed her basket on the counter and resumed her eavesdropping spot near the doorframe.

 

“Golpalott’s third law states that the antidote will be more than the sum of the antidotes for each separate component. Her  _ fourth _ law states that the antidote must be taken in at least the same amount of the poison to be rendered effective.” 

 

“You’ve got them backwards,” Neville said smugly. 

 

“You’re barking! I’ll grab the damn book.” The door swung open violently, and Hermione stared, her eyes wide in amusement. Draco regarded her with a flat, annoyed expression before marching past her and grabbing a book written by Cecila Golpalott. 

 

He then stomped back into the room and slammed the door shut nearly on her nose, and Hermione allowed a small smile as she returned to her basket, plucking and sorting the herbs along the counter.

 

* * *

 

June 23rd, 2003

 

The unlikely trio sat around an enchanted radio in the sitting room as a man with a thick Spanish accent recalled the daring flying of Inigo Fuente Marero. 

 

The Spanish Nationals were battling the French Colibris in a fierce game of Quidditch. Hermione had stated bluntly not two but _ three _ times that she didn’t care about this blasted sport, but the two boys ignored her. Her lot in life, it seemed, was to be surrounded by silly boys obsessed with this silly sport.

 

The two would remark on the game and then settle into yet another discussion about how the only proper teams were in England and that once this war was over that would be made clear at the next Quidditch World Cup. 

 

Neville and Draco had settled into a quiet understanding the last few days, and Quidditch seemed to be their only point of non-contention. They both wholeheartedly agreed on all things Quidditch. 

 

The game dragged on, much to Hermione’s severe disappointment, but it was interrupted quickly by the snap of Apparition. 

 

Three shocked faces whipped towards the kitchen. Harry and Ron were standing there, side by side as always and for once not looking battleworn. Instead, they were smiling. Their faces fell slightly when they took in the casual scene that now included Neville.  

 

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione squealed and sprinted towards them, throwing her arms around their necks. She then realized just how long they’d left her waiting, and pulled back to slap at them. “What on earth has kept you! You should have responded by now. Is everything alright?”

 

“Better than alright! It’s been a little quieter since we’ve been here last, but they’ve kept us busy. We’ve got some real leads after questioning the prisoners from the Manor,” Ron stated proudly. 

 

“Neville, we’ve come to collect you.” Harry smiled, his eyes tight for a reason Hermione couldn’ understand. “If you’re up to return that is. Luna’s dying to see you.”

 

Neville clapped his hands together excitedly. “Well, there isn’t much that would make me want to leave this extended vacation, but Luna would fall into that category. When do we leave?”

 

“Soon,” Ron said with a frown, and Hermione’s eyes studied the expression. None of it made sense. “If you want to wash up, we can go after. You’ll be headed to the Safe House in Essex after this. Luna’s there.” Ron smiled tightly at this.

 

“Give me just a few minutes,” Neville bounded up the stairs, a man reborn. 

 

“Crucio didn’t give him any troubles?” Ron nodded towards Malfoy. 

 

“Nightmares, but he’s doing alright with the Dreamless Sleep. I think Granger’s got a case ready for him to take.” 

 

“I have some other potions too. We have an excess and luckily not many patients. You can take them into the field for quick fixes.” 

 

“Thanks Hermione.” Ron sat down next to her, closer than normal, and her shoulders tensed briefly. Unwillingly, her eyes darted to Malfoy, who seemed to be staring at the pair of them until that very moment, as he moved his gaze to the floorboard between them instead.

 

“So, Malfoy,” Harry said, “We’ve got news on your parents. Do you want to speak in private?”

 

“It’s fine. She’ll just pry it out of me later anyway.” Malfoy smirked, but she didn’t miss the tension rippling across his shoulders or the way his hands clamped together until his knuckles turned white.

 

“We captured Lucius,” Ron said, and the room fell silent. “He’s being… difficult, but we’ve got him.”

 

Draco sucked in a harsh breath. “My mother?”

 

“She’s still in. It’s complicated,” Ron offered, looking to Harry for support, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to comfort Malfoy.

 

“And what  _ exactly _ does that mean?” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and she could feel her heart quicken as the room electrified. 

 

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, massaging the space between his brows. “It’s not exactly something I’m looking forward to telling you, mate.”

 

“I really don’t fucking care,” Malfoy snapped back. “Spit it out.”

 

Harry jumped in then, sensing Ron’s discomfort. “Apparently, You-know-who has taken a liking to your mother and is keeping her close. Closer than most.” Ron and Harry shared a nervous glance. “He intends to take her as his wife.” 

 

“ _ What? _ ” Draco’s eyes darkened, and she felt a chill run the length of her spine. “She’s fucking married already!” 

 

“Well, apparently You-Know-Who doesn’t care much about the sanctity of marriage. I’m sorry, mate. We are going to get her out. I promise,” Ron vowed, leaning forward towards Malfoy with tight pull to his brow.

 

“Lucius doesn’t know where you are or your involvement. Do we have your permission to tell him you're safe with the Order?”

 

“Tell him whatever you want to get him to cooperate.” Draco waved them off. 

 

“Now, onto another uncomfortable matter…” Harry’s eyes blew wide, and he stared at his intertwined fingers.

 

“Are all your visits so cheery?” Draco mocked, leaning back in his chair and carding his fingers through his hair.

 

“We figured Neville would learn about you being here. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have clearance.” Ron said sternly.

 

“We didn’t tell him anything,” Hermione interjected. “We only said that he was part of the Order and—”

 

“It’s not safe for him to know about your location and your involvement,” Ron said simply, as if nothing else mattered.

 

“Okay...” Hermione scooted over a spot on the couch and stared at her friends. “Well, he knows.” She shrugged, her eyes darting between the three men in her sitting room. “Neville is fine; they’re almost friends,” she chuckled, “In a twisted sort of way.”

 

“And that’s brilliant. I’m glad that someone else can see that you aren’t a total git,” Ron said honestly. “But he’s not trained in Occlumency. If he’s captured, they can find you both.” 

 

Draco ground his jaw together at the precise moment that Hermione’s heart cracked. Why was it that he could have nothing good? Not a parent, not a home, not a friend. 

 

“We have to Obliviate him. He won’t remember any of his time here other than waking up and us coming to get him when he comes down from the shower,” Harry spoke softly. “We’re sorry, Malfoy.”

 

“Right, I’ll just make my way outside while you finish up. Cabbage needs watering.” Malfoy pushed up on his knees and rose to standing. “I’ll see you around. Potty. Weasel.”

 

Hermione glared at them when Malfoy was safely out of earshot. “ _ Seriously? _ ”

 

“It’s not up to us.” Harry raised his hands in defense. 

 

“When did you guys start begging permission? This is a new development if I ever saw one,” Hermione scoffed. They were the ones who acted now and asked forgiveness later. Yet here they were, tails between their legs and begging for permission from men they barely knew.

 

“It’s not like how it was in school,” Ron snapped, leaning forward. “This is war, Hermione. There is a hierarchy, and we’ve learned the hard way that the ladder is not there for show. Some people know more because they know  _ better _ . What if a dozen Death Eaters showed up on your doorstep after capturing Neville? How could I live with that?”

 

She was silent for a long moment, unwillingly to allow a break in her anger, even if it was well deserved. 

 

The tension shattered as Neville skipped down the stairs smiling and freshly groomed. “Okay, I’m ready! Where’s Malfoy?”

 

The three of them shared a glance, and Harry rose with his wand out. Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “I always was the best with Memory Charms.” She smiled weakly and gripped her wand. 

 

* * *

 

Under the pale moonlight, Hermione padded barefoot out to the garden and found Malfoy sitting next to the Goosegrass. She slowed her trot when she heard him singing a faint, haunting melody she didn’t recognise. 

 

_ “When the moon is nigh,  _

_ Look for me,  _

_ When the moon is high, _

_ There I shall be,  _

 

_ Do not shed a tear,  _

_ No, not for me, _

_ The moon will guide you home,  _

_ Home, to me.” _

 

Goosebumps spread across her flesh, and she tightened the grip of the bottle she was holding. 

 

“I didn’t know you sang.” 

 

“I doubt there are many people who don’t possess the ability to sing. Besides, your Goosegrass was fainting.” 

 

“Fancy a drink?” Hermione sat down on the warm earth next to him. “The boys said there won’t be any missions for awhile. Can’t hurt, right? Tonight sucked.” She winced as she took a quick sip of the firewhiskey. 

 

Draco gave her an amused grin from the corners of his eyes before snagging the bottle and taking a long pull. 

 

“I have to agree with you there; tonight definitely sucked.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ravenslight is a gem and beta extraordinaire! 
> 
> Sorry for the delay! As I work through this piece, I feel more and more insecure about it haha but I'm plugging away and I'll update again soon!


	9. 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter! My WIP and other writing commitments have taken over my free time! I’ll be working sans-beta from here on out with Tergeo so all those nasty little errors are wholly mine. Hope it is readable to some extent :D**

* * *

  
  


June 24th, 2003

 

“You’re telling me, that nothing happened between you and Pansy?” Hermione lifted a curious eyebrow at him as she swallowed another giggle. 

 

Draco glowered back at her, his eyes narrowed as he snagged the bottle from her. He’d been avoiding giving an honest answer for several minutes and finally, he cracked. “Alright! Fine. Yes, something happened but I was drunk and it was a dare… and I swear to Merlin’s saggy sack – I’ll never forgive Goyle as long as I live.”

 

Hermione rolled over in laughter, clawing at her sides while tears ran down her cheeks. “Tell me!”

 

“What?” he choked, wiping firewhisky from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not bloody likely!” 

 

“Oh, you have to! Seriously. Don’t you know me at all? I’m a curious person… you can’t leave me in such agony,” she whined, tugging playfully on the sleeve of his shirt.

 

“You would make the worst Slytherin,” Draco offered her a withering snort. “Your skills at persuasion are truly abhorrent.” He took another long pull from the firewhisky before tucking it between his knees. “But fine.” 

 

Hermione’s laughter turned riotous as she gasped for air, snagging the bottle from his lap. “Aha! So actually, I’d be a rather proficient Slytherin.”

 

“Doubtful.” 

 

Hermione felt a flutter in her chest when he stared back at her; his brow tugged up and a smirk playing on his lips.

 

“Tell me!” Hermione whined again.

 

“It was fourth year during a party. We were playing Pick a Wand.” 

 

“Pick a what?”

 

“Pick a wand.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, capturing the bottle which was now nearly two-thirds gone. 

“Merlin, you Gryffindorks really are lame. Witches wands in one, wizards in the other. Pick one and spend ten minutes in a broom closet.”

 

“Oh, seven minutes in heaven.”

 

“What’s that?” Draco’s brow furrowed.

 

“Nevermind.” Hermione waved her hand dismissively, eager for Draco to continue. “Anyway, on with it! If I remember correctly, fourth year was a particularly puss-filled year for Pansy.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and snagged the bottle from Hermione’s hands, taking another pull and then laying back in the grass. 

 

“I always bragged that I was quite the witches-man at only fourteen.” Draco’s eyes clenched shut as he let out a guttural groan. “Goyle dared me to bring back her knickers or pay him twenty galleons..”

 

“No!” Hermione covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.

 

“Well, I wasn’t coming out of there without them obviously.” He snorted. “I’ve been scarred most of my adult life. And that is how the horrible rumor of me and Pansy started. Not that she didn’t help to circulate it herself…”

 

Hermione erupted in laughter again, patting the earth to help ease the stitch in her side. “I knew you couldn’t be dating that pug! I mean… look at you!” She blurted and then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Merlin. I’m drunk… I’ve not been drunk in a while.”

 

“Granger,” Draco purred playfully in the darkness. “I knew you weren’t immune to my charms.” 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. I just mean that you guys seem on a bit of a different level. Looks wise.” Hermione felt her face screw up at her own awkwardness and she groaned. “It’s the whisky. I’m not used to these spirits.” Hermione smiled nervously, letting the soil slip through her fingers absently. 

 

“Your garden is doing well,” Draco said, poking her Valerian with his pointer finger. 

 

“It is,” Hermione agreed with a grin. “It’s strange. I wouldn’t have ever put myself here.”

 

“Here?”

 

“Sitting a plot of earth that I’ve tilled with my childhood bully – drunk.” Hermione shook her head, her curls bouncing across her shoulders. “I’ve spent so much time imagining where my life would lead and this just never crossed my mind.” 

She could feel the heat of his stare on her face and her lips pulled into a drunken grin. 

 

“You owe me.” Draco finally broke the silence, amusement lacing his words. “From the Pansy story?”

 

Hermione’s mind spun away from her and her eyes blew wide. “What do you want?”

 

“Tell me about you and Weasel.” He drew runes in the soil, refusing to meet her eye and a strange cocktail of relief and disappointment flooded her system.

 

“I’ve told you. I should feel more for him— I don’t.”

 

“Why should you feel more?” He shifted just marginally closer to her and her breath hitched.

 

Her face scrunched up as she searched the sky for her favorite constellations. “Destiny?”

 

“Bullshite.” Draco snorted and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

 

Hermione’s hands flew up in defense and she laughed. “It seems like everyone has this story written in their heads for me, and I’m meant to fill in the blanks. I don’t think I’m that person anymore, though. She died in a forest some time ago.”

 

“You can’t honestly believe that.” 

 

Hermione sighed, her eyes fluttering closed as she heard the lull of the ocean crashing below. “I know that I’m different now than I was before that night. Something changed and I don’t think I can go back. I don’t know if I want to.”

 

“You know, that night, the old Draco died too.” 

 

Hermione froze, a deep, sobering breath filling her lungs. She felt horribly unprepared for this conversation. 

 

“I think he’d been dying for a while, but I walked up on you, and your back was turned. I should have killed you. Hell, I would have been killed had anyone found out that I didn’t. But I couldn’t.” 

 

Hermione shifted on her hip, staring at the sharp planes of his face as he spoke, lost in memory.

 

“I thought if I could just leave you there, no one would know. But then being forced to stand by while Rookwood—” Draco drifted off. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. I should have fucking killed him. Could have at least let you kill him, since your the least cowardly of the two of us. It changed after that. I changed after that. I contacted the Order days later and asked them to help me get out.”

 

Hermione’s slow and slushy brain struggled to filter through the information dump that he’d just laid at her feet and she blurted the first question that came to her mind. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

 

She watched Draco’s face crumple. “I am not a murderer.”

 

“Why me?”

 

Draco pursed his lips, his eyes dragging slowly over the curves of her face and settling on her mouth. “I thought you were clever.” He tucked a few curls behind her ears and his palm brushed against her cheek.

 

“Are you very drunk?” she whispered. 

 

“No.” He smirked at her, a laugh playing on his lips. “Are you?”

 

“Mildly,” she allowed, swallowing thickly. 

 

Draco leaned in, a breath away from brushing lips and tangled one hand hair in the curls at the back of her neck.

 

The moment stretched on in agony and finally, the softest lips touched hers. She felt the kiss in her knees and his arm wrapped tighter around her waist. They moved in perfect synchronization; like it was a dance they had been meant to dance their entire lives. 

 

Hermione’s hands slid in his sugar soft hair and she pressed her body into him. When his tongue brushed against his lower lip, he swallowed her moan before plunging into her mouth with her tongue.

 

She pulled back, catching her breath as he rested his forehead on hers. 

 

Her mind tugged in several directions as a coil of want settled deep in her belly. Hermione placed her bedroom squarely in her mind and they were gone— then there again. 

 

Draco clung to her, even after they had landed and whipped his head around to survey their new surroundings. “Granger.” He shook his head purposefully. 

 

“Shhh,” she whispered and pulled him down on the bed on top of her, her legs parting to let him lay him between them. 

Her hands slid down his back, tugging up on his shirt and he broke their kiss, lifting it over his shoulders and tossing it aside. She took a long lingering look as lean muscles of his abdomen flexed peppered with scars. 

 

Draco lavished a kiss in the hollow of her throat and she froze, hearing a faint pop!

 

“Draco!” she hissed, “Someone’s here!”

 

“What?” His words muffled against her skin. 

 

“Hide!” Hermione shoved him off her and ignored the confused look on his face as she shoved him in her closet and slammed the door. 

 

“Mione?” She heard the familiar voice stage whisper. Shit. Haphazardly, she pulled her shirt over her head and smoothed her hair, before cracking the door. 

 

“Ron? What on earth are you doing here?” 

 

“Mind if I crash for the night? I’ve got to talk to Draco in the morning, and the safe house was packed.”

 

“Of course. You can use the room downstairs.” She rushed, attempting to close the door before he stayed it with his palm.

 

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

 

“No!” she blurted and when his sapphire eyes went wide in surprise she attempted to calm her nerves with a deep breath. 

 

“You alright, Hermione?”

 

“Brilliant. Just exhausted. See you in the morning?” Her words tumbled quickly one after another and her friend studied her with a wary expression.

 

Ron tentatively agreed, turning to trot down the stairs with a final curious glance over his shoulder. 

 

Hermione pressed the door closed and with a wave of her wand silenced the room.

 

“Malfoy?” she called quietly, a shameful blush staining her cheeks. He said nothing as he slid through her closet door. “Malfoy?” she repeated with a trembling voice.

 

The blond retrieved his shirt and pulled it over his head, before leaning in and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek

 

“Where are you going?” Pain settled in her chest as he moved towards the door.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Malfoy smirked but left with nothing more said between them. 

 

Hermione stared at the back of her door, rejection rubbing uncomfortably against her skin. Before long, she crawled under her duvet; a familiar quiver in her throat as she fought off tears.

 

Sleep didn’t find her, not even when the sun began it’s slow to peek through the blinds. Her fingers curled through with the stray yarn on her throw blanket, and she sat up straight in her bed as she heard the faint sound of steps and the water being turned on in the shower. 

 

Shaking her head from the invading images, Hermione quickly wrapped her robe around her shoulders and padded down the stairs. 

 

As she passed the room at the bottom of the stairs, she peeked in, finding Ron was belly up and fully clothed, snoring loudly. 

 

Tittering around the kitchen, Hermione set to breakfast: pulling muffins from the cupboard and setting the kettle on the stove. The stairs creaked behind her and tension spread across her shoulders, even the fine hairs of her arms standing at attention. 

 

A low cough signaled his arrival. “Granger.” 

 

Her lips pursed unpleasantly. “Morning, Malfoy.” There were hurt and embarrassment underneath it all and she couldn’t explain why. 

 

Strong hands fell on her shoulders skating down her arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She couldn’t place the feelings coursing through her; everything about him confused her. He’d left her— breathless and thoroughly snogged — and now he was here, rubbing her arms and embracing her.

 

“Tea?” she said with a shaky breath.

 

His voice was husky in her ear and she felt her heart thundering in her chest. “Love some. Thanks.” 

 

A tight knot tangled in her throat, and she tried in vain to swallow it away. Summoning all that Gryffindor courage of hers, she turned in his arms and stared up at him with squinted, curious eyes. His gaze left hers, falling on her lips and before she knew it, he captured her in a firm but tender kiss. The night before, her lids would have fluttered closed, but she was so caught by surprise that they shot open wider. 

 

As their lips broke away from each other, his lips pulled up into a smirk. 

 

Hermione’s eyes darted over his smug expression and she gulped. “I’m...confused.”

 

“About what?” The smile playing on his curved lips was maddening and Hermione couldn’t help but feel that she was in a game that she didn’t know the rules to. 

 

“Why you are kissing me?” she asked with a skeptical brow.

 

Draco’s face fell, his jaw falling slightly open as he gaped at her. “Bloody hell, you don’t remember? I thought you said you weren’t drunk!” 

 

“You idiot, of course, I remember! But you left—”

 

He chuckled darkly into his chest, “I doubt a hastily cast Silencio would have hidden our activities last night had they continued and I didn’t think Weasley needs to be privy to any of that.”

 

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re not mad?”

 

Draco reached behind her and snagged the warmed muffin that was meant for her and took a giant bite, shrugging. “Maybe at Weasel— but that’s normally the case.”

A rustle came from the bedroom and Hermione snapped from her reverie. With a withering grimace, she snatched the muffin from Draco’s hand and tucked it between her teeth as she prepared a strong cup of tea. 

 

“Morning,” Ron grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “That bed is so much more comfortable than those lumpy fucking cots at the safe houses.”

 

“What is it you want, Weasley?” Draco drawled, snatching the muffin from between Hermione’s teeth and moving towards the sitting area. 

 

The feeling in the air shifted, a tight tension coiling between the unlikely trio. Ron’s straightened his spine and coughed into the back of his hand. “We can brief in private—” His crystal blue eyes flickered over to Hermione at the counter. “If you want.”

 

Draco waved a dismissive hand towards the witch. “It’s fine, she’ll just eavesdrop anyway.”

 

Ron’s eyes fell on Hermione once more, but with a firm nod, he took the seat across from Draco. “We’ve got a mission planned— a mission to extract your mum.”

 

Hermione’s head snapped to the pair of them, her eyes studying Draco; eager to take in his reaction. He gave nothing away, his gray eyes staring a hole in the floor. 

 

“Where is she?” 

 

Hermione barely recognized the voice that passed Draco’s lips: tight and cautious.

 

“An old fortress in Ireland tucked near Muggles. It’s going to be tricky,” Ron said, his gaze intent on Draco. “But I promised you I would and I meant it. The team is ready.”

 

“When?”

 

“Technically, that’s classified…”

 

Draco snorted, rising to his feet and bracing his hands on the mantel above the fireplace. “Just tell me, Weasel.” 

 

The silence dragged on for a few long moments and Hermione felt frozen as she watched the pair. There was a time not long ago when this house had been untouched by the horrors of war— it seemed those days were gone. 

 

“Tomorrow. Maybe the next.” 

 

Draco cleared his throat and turned back towards Ron, his eyes resting on Hermione briefly. “Lucius?”

 

Ron gulped, shifting in his seat. “He’s demanding to see you. Won’t say a word until he does.”

 

Draco massaged the valley between his brows and Hermione found herself desperately wanting to comfort him in some small way.

 

“I’m going,” he said, his eyes flashing at Ron. “On the mission to get my Mother.”

 

“Mate, you know that’s not up to me. Madeye wi—” 

 

“If I die, that’s on me. I’m not doing anyone any good from here anyway. I’m getting her out. No discussion.”

 

Hermione’s heart tightened before slamming against her ribcage like a wild bird in a cage. He talked about his death like no one would care. 

 

It wasn’t true. 

 

She would care. 

 

Ron nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

 

Draco stood and walked out the back door, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

 

Hermione felt a wave of rage crash around her, she stomped towards her friend, baring her teeth and wielding wild gestures with her hands. “Why would you tell him that?” she hissed.

 

Ron’s brows fell in bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s his mum, he deserves to know.”

 

“You could have told him after! After she was safe!”

 

Shooting to his feet, his chest nearly bumped into her and she took a nervous step back. “What if she’s not? I don’t know why you can’t understand this, but what we’re doing? They aren’t drills, Hermione. She might  _ not _ be ok. She very well might already be dead. Our only Intel is standing in your backyard... We are working blind and we are doing the best we can.” Ron’s eyes were narrowed at her. “What if it was your mum? Would you forgive me for not telling you?”

 

Her jaw clenched together and she felt a weight settle on her chest. “No,” she breathed. “No, I wouldn’t forgive you. But I won’t forgive you if either of you gets yourselves blown up either.”

 

“We’re always safe, Mione. Don’t worry about us.” Ron wrapped her in his arms, pressing his lips to her temple. The guilt overwhelmed her.

 

Ron left without saying goodbye to Malfoy. 

 

Hermione nestled into the corner of the couch, draping a blanket over her legs and staring at the fire burning away long after the sun had set. Vivid visions of all the men she cared about dying by the hands of masked death eaters kept chewing away at her. Why did all the men in her life have to have giant targets on their backs?

 

The creak of the door cause Hermione to blink from her thoughts and they fell, thankfully on Draco’s exhausted face. Her lips quirked up in a greeting. “Hi,” Hermione breathed. 

 

“Weasel gone?” The sharp point in his throat bobbed as he stared at her through lidded eyes.

 

“Yeah, some time ago now. He’s gone to speak with Mad-Eye, hopefully, you’ll be able to go.” She smiled falsely, closing the book she’d been pretending to read and tossing it on the small table in front of her.

 

The corners of Draco’s eyes tightened and he took a step further into the room.“You don’t want me to?”

 

Hermione snorted, rising to her feet and moving towards the kitchen behind her. “Well, that much should be obvious.”

 

“Why?” Something in the way he stared at her, even from across the room stirred a longing deep inside her.

 

As welcome as those longings might be, Hermione felt they were entirely foreign and bristled under his scrutiny. “I don’t want you to get hurt, or worse. You—you’re my friend.”

 

“Friend?” Draco’s lips pulled up into a familiar smile. “I didn’t know I had any of those left.” 

 

“Well, at least one,” she said, tucking a curl behind her ear. She swallowed thickly and squared her shoulders at him. “Is there any way I can convince you to stay?”

 

“No.”

 

She nodded firmly in response. 

 

There should have been a fight; Hermione should have argued,  _ reasoned, _ with him— that’s what she excelled at. But where there once was fire, she felt a calm. A wave of courage tidaled over her and in moments she crashed into his arms. 

 

Everything happened in a frenzy: his arms twisted around her lower back and she lunged for his mouth; their lips bruising and nipping at each other until they were panting. 

 

His hands slid from her waist, sliding up her spine and curling in her curls before travelling to her bum and dragging her against him. 

 

Hermione was normally a clumsy sort of witch; she never possessed the natural grace of an athlete and her dance teacher as a child told her she moved with the beauty of a rhinoceros. But in Draco’s arms, she delicately tugged him back towards the closest room at the bottom of the stairs, tugging deftly at his shirt until it slid over his head and working the buttons of her own denims. 

 

They toppled on top of each other, her back hitting the mattress as Draco caught himself before crushing her and he stared down at her with a heated glint in his eye. 

 

His hands fell to the hem of her shirt and she sat up to assist him, her curls falling in a waterfall over her bare shoulders. She wished briefly that she didn’t love pasta as much… or butter… or chocolate. It seemed a little late for that— so she decided Malfoy would have to do with the body she had currently. He didn’t seem to mind. 

 

Until this moment, she had been a lioness: confident and striking. However, with the air kissing her skin, insecurity took over. She hadn’t exactly done this before. There had been  _ stuff _ ... but not this. 

 

Should she tell him?

 

Maybe that would ruin the mood.

 

Maybe she shouldn’t. 

 

During her brief inner turmoil, Draco had successfully slid her denims from her legs. He planted wet kisses along her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, all while he filled his hands with her. 

 

It was becoming dangerously close to the point of no return, and she had better say something if she was going to at all. 

 

“Um, Malfoy?” She panted over his shoulder, her eyes locked on the ceiling.

 

“Call me Draco,” he purred, his hot breath in her ear sent goosebumps along her skin. 

 

“Oh ok,” she gulped shifting under the weight of him. “ _ Draco _ ? I should tell you something—”

 

Draco froze above her and pulled back to look at her properly, a nervous eyebrow raised high on his forehead. 

 

“I — technically speaking — I'm, well I’m a  _ virgin _ ,” she whispered the last word like a secret she didn’t want anyone else to know about. 

 

Draco shot up and Hermione almost whimpered as heat stained her cheeks.

 

“You’re what?” Draco gaped down at her. 

 

“Well, it’s not a big deal, really. Just never got around to the actual act of it. With the war and my mental breakdown and all— been a little busy.” Her shame was shifting to anger and it colored her voice as she spoke.

 

Draco shook his head, pushing away from her. “I can’t take that from you.”

Hermione’s hands flew up, cradling the sides of his face and letting her thumbs trace a long line along his cheekbones.  

 

Stupid boy. “You wouldn’t be.” Hermione lifted her trembling fingers to his cheek, cupping his face as he leaned into her touch. “I’m giving it to you. I’m ready, and I choose you.”

 

“Granger. I might be dead tomorrow. You don’t want to waste it—”

 

With an exaggerated groan, Hermione’s hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and she pulled his face down to hers until their lips met in a frenzy of perfectly synchronized movements. Each drag of his tongue caused the walls of her sex to quiver and even though every sensation was new— she wanted him in the most desperate kind of way. 

 

“You’ll come back,” Hermione managed between kisses— mostly to herself.  

 

Abandoning the rest of their clothing, Draco cupped her mound, poising his fingertips at the pooling wetness of her folds. His thumb swiped at her clit, eliciting a moan that Hermione could confidently say had never left her lips before. 

 

He slipped one finger in, curling it inside her until her knees hitched up. She writhed under his touch for more, rolling her head back as she arched off the mattress. There was an endless longing to be filled and her hips seemed to translate that need into fucking his hand as he slipped another finger inside of her, drawing another moan from her.

 

Her trembling hands slid from his shoulders to the planes of his torso and when her timid fingers wrapped around the length of him; she reveled in the gasp that escaped his lips. 

 

An unfamiliar pressure began to twist and coil deep in her belly as she rocked her hips against his hand and she knew that if she just kept going— suddenly an unexpected pleasure washed over her, and she froze; coming undone under his expert touch. 

 

Hermione lips fell open as she dug her nails into his skin, twisting and shifting from her orgasm.

 

“We don’t have to—” Her eyes flew open, and Draco was staring at her. His eyes, normally a cool silver, were a stormy gray and his pupils were blown wide.

 

Her nerves threatened to overtake her. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she shook her head. “I want to.”

 

Draco studied her with careful eyes, and finally rolled on top of her, positioning himself at her entrance.

 

“Just— tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.” He pressed a kiss against her lips before burying his face into the nape of her neck. 

 

She squeezed her eyes shut as he pressed inside her. Gasping, she clenched her eyes shut as he filled her. It was an impossible sensation to describe. She felt impossibly stretched, filled until she was sure she couldn’t take any more. 

 

“Are you okay?” Draco’s voice was strangled, almost desperate as he held his frame over her. 

 

Hermione’s eyes widened in worry as she noticed the tremble in his arms. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Merlin. How can you even  _ ask _ that?” He chuckled into her skin, leaving a kiss against her clavicle. “You feel incredible, Hermione.”

 

_ Hermione _ . She liked the sound of that…

 

The cage of his arms shook all around her and when she studied the delicate pull of his features she realized how very hard he was trying not to hurt her as he kept his composure.

 

“You can go again,” she offered, kissing his shoulder and resting her hands on his hips, trying to pull him deeper past her discomfort. 

 

Draco withdrew fractionally and pressed in again, a little groan rumbling in his throat. He moved slowly with her; each thrust gaining a little more momentum and soon Hermione found her knees hitched over his hips. She was sure he was still holding back, but he drove into her faster now, even his breath quickened against her neck.

 

The pressure faded and Hermione pulled him on top of her until he was almost crushing her, but the sensation shifted as he slid into her at a different angle; pleasure filled her as he rubbed against her clit with each thrust. 

 

His hands froze on the soft flesh of her thigh as he shoved into her one… two… three more times and then collapsed on top of her. 

 

Draco withdrew and rolled to his side, tucking her into his embrace and catching his breath. She fell asleep to the constant trailing of his fingers over her hip and kisses on her shoulder; a smile playing on her lips. 

  
  


The early morning sun was pouring in through the sheer curtains of the downstairs bedroom. Draco’s arm was lazily draped over her middle and Hermione could feel the air against her chest as she fought the tangle of sheets on her legs and kicked violently to free herself. 

 

_ Pop!  _ Hermione’s heart quickened instantaneously at the crack of apparition nearby.

 

Just as she reached for the edge of the sheet, Draco snapped awake, grabbing his wand and pointing it at the sliver of open door. 

 

She felt a wave of relief. Just Ron.

 

Hermione’s normally sharp mind took too long to understand the angry pull of Ron’s features and the way his teeth pulled up in a snarl as he stared at the two of them curled around each other in a nest of bedsheets.

 

Somewhere deep in her chest— she felt a piece of her shatter. “Ron!” she cried, tears springing from her eyes as she frantically pulled the sheet to cover herself. 

 

The disbelief and anger stewing in Ron’s expression left her speechless. 

 

Suddenly a blank expression ghosted over her friends normally happy features. “Malfoy. You’ve got clearance. Be outside in five minutes.” 

 

Ron turned on his heel, leaving the door hanging open and Hermione let out a sob as Draco shot from their bed.

 

Draco was already halfway dressed before she could make sense of what had just happened. “I’ll be back tonight. Don’t worry.” 

 

Traitorous tears streaked down her cheek and she grabbed for any fabric she could wrap her fingers into, settling for his shirt. “You can’t— you can’t just  _ leave _ !” 

 

“Be back soon—  promise. Too many of those idiots have tried to put me in the ground, and not one of them have figured it out yet.”  He brushed a few curls back behind her ear and her fingers tightened on the sheet between them.

 

Without another word, he grabbed his shirt from the floor and was gone. 

 

A single sound of apparition haunted the air and Hermione was alone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**June 26th, 2003**

 

Dark purple circles had already begun shadowing Hermione’s eyes and there was a weary trudge to her step that had been missing these past few weeks. 

 

It’d been thirty-six hours.  

 

Sleep stole her for a few broken hours, but not nearly enough, and she staved off her hunger pains by munching on anything that was easily reached. In her time since the incident on the battlefield, she had begun to  _ feel _ again, began to really breathe again. Now, she felt back where it all began; compartmentalizing her feelings and shoving them into the recesses of her mind just to protect herself. 

 

Thoughts of how she would cope if God-forbid Draco came back holding Ron’s body— or vice versa— caused a thrashing panic to take over her and she found herself jamming the heels of her palm into her eyes just to drive out the visions. 

 

Hermione’s breath caught when a single pop sounded from behind her and her eyes clenched shut. Whatever she was about to see, she had a strong intuition that it wasn’t what she wanted. 

 

“Hermione?” Harry called and with it, her heart sank. 

 

It should be Draco. He should be here, wrapping her in his arms and assuring her that his mom was safe and Ron was pissed but very much alive. 

 

“Harry?”

 

“Merlin, Hermione, are you alright? You look—” Harry knelt down next to her, brushing the dull curls back from her face and trying to look her in the eye. 

 

“Is there any news?” The words stuck to her throat and Hermione felt her shoulders slump in her desperation.

 

“He’s alright.  He hurt but Poppy is confident he’s going to be just fine.”

 

A sob that must have belonged to her echoed in her ears. “Who?”

 

Harry’s brows tugged together as he studied her. 

 

“Which  _ who _ are you referring to?”

 

Harry cocked his head to the side and tilted her face up to his. When her gaze locked onto his squinted eyes, her breath hitched. “Ron. He’s alright.” 

 

“A-and Draco?”

 

“Dra—” Realisation quickly settled over him and his eyes fluttered closed. He let out a tired sigh as he removed his glasses and rubbed at the crease between his brows. 

 

“What about Draco?” She repeated with a trembling voice. 

 

“He made it out. He’s okay.” Harry took a moment before speaking again, “Does Ron know?”

 

Hermione collapsed in on herself like a dying star, her forehead hit the floor as she allowed the emotion of the last thirty-six hours to finally overtake her. Harry stayed. His hand resting on her hunched back as she wet the wood floors with her tears. 

* * *

The living room at the safe house was too quiet. Far too quiet. There was a flickering light bulb in the corner that was setting Hermione’s teeth on edge and she was currently coping by shaking her foot back and forth nervously.

 

Harry’s palm shot out and rested firmly on her knee. With a tight smile, he silently let her know that she was driving him mad with her fidgeting and with a bashful apology, she stood, resorting to pacing instead. 

 

No one had offered her nothing in the way of information; to be fair, they had very little. But until she knew the extent of their injuries, her anxiety ruled her body. Everything felt too much: the quiet was too loud, the dim light was blinding… even her clothes felt offensive against her skin. 

 

A quarter of an hour passed, and Madame Pomfrey finally emerged, a thin sheen of sweat gracing her brow. With a flick of her chin, she motioned that they were free to enter. Hermione’s knees buckled and she sucked in a harsh breath as Harry’s arm wound around her waist. 

 

“They’re going to be okay. But they might not look as pretty as they normally do,” Harry teased, lightening the mood fractionally. “You go on, I’ll talk to Poppy.”

 

Hermione agreed quickly, leaving Harry’s side and pushing open the door to the room at the end of the hall. 

 

Ron was unconscious. 

 

He had two deep indigo-colored bruises around his neck; evidence of fingers closing around his Adam’s apple. A deep gash starting at his hairline and ending near the tip of his nose marred his ivory skin, it had since been properly cleaned and stitched, but there was no doubt he would be left with a scar that might threaten to put Bill’s to shame. The rest of his face was relatively untouched, save a few purple shadows smattered across his cheeks.  

 

Hermione kneeled on the floor next to his cot, taking his cool hand in hers and pressing her lips against the faint bruise forming. 

 

“Ron... I’m so sorry.” she breathed. 

 

Her apology fell on deaf ears and she settled for resting her cheek on the back of his hand. Counting the slow rise and fall of his chest with an intense concentration.  was the only way she would measure time from now on. Minutes, hours, years… they would cease to matter so long as those she loved were still breathing. 

 

The door opened with a loud creak and Hermione jumped, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Harry stepped in, his features downturned and tight. “Well?” 

 

“She’s keeping him under for now. Malfoy’s as HQ giving his report.” 

 

Something inside her slipped into place and she let out a relieved breath she’d been holding onto. If Malfoy reported, then Malfoy was alive. He was well enough to talk. That was something.  

 

“Ron took a Confringo in the belly, threw him into a stone wall.”

 

“My God…” Hermione’s hand flew to cover her mouth as her eyes again found Ron’s broken face. 

 

“He was trying to get to Malfoy’s mum. There was a scuffle and Ron… he killed Nott’s son.”

 

Hermione’s vision darkened as she remembered the wiry little blond boy who used to lurk at the back of the library and always seemed to be sitting alone.  “Theo?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said with a sad nod. “Nott Senior blasted Ron into a wall and then tried to choke him with his bare hands. Fucking animals— the lot of them. I swear, I’ve never seen men like this, Hermione.” Harry advanced a few paces until he was standing next to Ron, staring down at his best friend with remorse filled emerald eyes. “Malfoy saved him.”

 

It felt like a punch to her diaphragm, but one she welcomed gladly. “Malfoy’s alright then?”

 

An indelicate little snort escaped Harry as his brows fell low over his emerald eyes. “What’s going on, Hermione? You and Malfoy are together now?” 

“We haven't exactly had a chance to label anything, Harry.” Hermione stood in with an indignant stomp of her foot. “Regardless, I have been living with the man for over a month. It’s reasonable that I’ve come to care if he lives or not!”

 

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. “What about Ron? You guys—” 

 

“We’re nothing, Harry. We’ve never really been anything if I’m being honest. You all just wanted us to be something so bad that we felt like we had to try. Surprisingly enough, I don’t need your guilt right now. I have enough of my own— enough that I’m bloody  _ drowning _ in it.” The words were hers but the candor surprised her, even when speaking with her best friend. 

 

Harry levied a tired sigh and ran his tongue over his teeth as he let her words sink in. “He’s heading back to the cottage after he’s been debriefed.”

 

Her gaze once again fell to the fiery-haired boy laying in the cot and she perched on the edge of the bed, cradling his hand to her lap. When had everything gotten so bloody complicated? 

 

With a slight tremble to her shoulders, she placed a soft kiss on Ron’s forehead before leaving without another word. 

* * *

 

“Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice rang out as soon as her feet landed on the grass outside the cottage. Before her stomach had properly settled, she was shoving through the front door, hair whipping frantically as she searched for him. “ _ Malfoy _ !”

 

“Hello, Granger.” Malfoy was sitting on the well-worn sofa with a slight hunch to his shoulders. He gave her that charming little half smile that she adored— but something was undeniably off about it, maybe the way it didn’t reach his eyes.  

 

She fell onto the couch next to him, her hands cradling his face as she inspected him for injuries. Other than a dark bruise on his right eye and some shadowing on the accompanying cheekbone, he looked relatively unscathed.

 

There were a number of things that Hermione felt called to say but each one died on her tongue. “Are you hurt?” 

 

Something flashed behind his silver eyes, a dry chuckle escaping him. “I’ll be alright. Weasley still alive?” His gaze fell to his hands lying in his lap as he pulled on his long fingers. 

 

“I barely saw him, but I think he’s gonna be okay. How’s your mum?” Hermione watched as his face crumpled and his lips pulled into a tight frown. That look alone would have been enough to tell her everything. 

 

He leaned forward and coughed into his hand. “She didn’t make it.” 

 

“Make it?” Hermione’s voice rose several octaves as she clung to the hope that perhaps she had just not made it out of captivity, but was still alive and somewhat well. That hope was immediately shattered. 

 

“She’s dead, Granger.” His voice cut through her like a hot knife and her breath hitched in her throat. 

 

Any insecurity still lingering in her body vanished and she curled into his side. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” The words didn’t feel close to enough but they were all she had. 

 

Silence stretched on for quite a while and she could feel his rage building in the air them. It was subtle, but there something in his sharp breaths and flexed muscles that clued her in. 

 

Suddenly, a bubble of laughter passed through Draco’s lips. Then another. And another. Hermione sat up to inspect the man who was clearly having a fit of some sort and when she did he doubled over in laughter; happy tears striping down his cheeks as he clutched at his abdomen 

 

“Are you quite alright?” Hermione asked with wide, skeptical eyes. 

 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Draco managed as his bursts of laughter quieted and he was left with a rumbling chuckle. “I’m left with one parent who is certifiably evil. A complete monster by all accounts… and then, there’s my mother. Who was far from a saint but until you, has been the kindest person I’ve ever met. And she’s dead.” Another laugh spilled out, but this one was a little sadder. “She’s dead.” He repeated it slowly and with a sense of finality, almost like he was trying to convince himself. 

 

Hermione took a deep breath but didn’t speak. Some moments needed silence more; this felt like one of them.

 

Draco rested back against the sofa and lifted his arm so that she might snuggle against him once more. They stayed in the silence for a long time, until eventually she heard his breath even into a slow, slumbering rhythm and a soft snore filled the air. 

 

Her mind wandered as she counted his breaths. She was young once, not so long ago at all, and when she had been, she’d imagined all the places her life would take her. She’d imagined the adventures and the whirlwind romances. But through all the possible scenarios, she could never have imagined this. The pair of them were so incredibly broken; all jagged edges and harsh lines; they were further from puzzle pieces and closer to broken glass. Mending the shards felt like an impossible feat.  

 

And of all the things she knew in complete certainty, she knew above all else that war was no place to fall in love. 

* * *

At some point during the night, they moved to Hermione’s bed. She fell asleep with her ear pressed to his chest so she could hear the constant drumming of his heart. 

 

When the first rays of the morning began to seep through the blinds, her eyes blinked open and she stared at Draco up close for the first time in a few days. When his face wasn’t screwed up in a sneer, he was undeniably beautiful. I mean, no one could have ever said that Draco Malfoy was unattractive but when given the opportunity to really appreciate his features— Hermione felt awfully insecure. 

 

There was a light knock on her door and Harry’s voice called her name quietly from the hall. Carefully disentangling herself from Draco, she wrapped her thin robe around her and cracked the door enough that she could peek out. 

 

“Harry?”

 

His eyes floated right past her and landed on the shirtless Malfoy in her bed and she noticed the way his jaw slightly tightened. For the life of her, Hermione couldn’t fathom why on earth Harry seemed to care as much as he did and it was caused her to glower unwittingly at her friend. 

 

“They’ll be waking Ron up shortly. They want to check his injuries and make sure he’s cognizant; in case you wanted to be there.” Harry said, shoving his hands deep in his trouser pockets.. 

 

Her sour expression brightened immediately. “Yes! When?” 

 

“Soon. I’ll wait for you downstairs and I can Apparate us to the safe house.” His gaze once again flickered to the man in her bed and Hermione shifted her position in a poor attempt at blocking his view. 

 

“I’ll be right down.” 

 

She dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of denims that had probably seen one too many wears and whatever blouse was closest. As she pulled her socks on, Draco stirred behind her. 

 

“Going somewhere?” he hummed, shifting on the bed and wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her back towards the center of the bed. 

 

A playful giggle filled the room as she swatted at his arm, but she was ill-matched and was soon toppling back into his embrace. 

 

“Yes, actually. Ron’s waking soon and I want to be there. I shouldn’t be gone long, but I can fix you something for breakfast if you’d like before I go.”

 

He hoisted himself up on his elbow and looked down at her with a small smirk. “No need. Let me know how he is.” His fingers curled around the back of her neck as he leaned down to pillow her bottom lip between his. Despite all the events of the past two days, Hermione felt a flutter in her chest as his lips moved against hers. 

 

They pulled apart and stared into each other's eyes for a moment, just long enough to convey something silently to the other. In his was gaze was a burning intensity that nothing between them had changed, even if everything else outside this bed had. 

 

Hermione hopped down the stairs and through the front door where Harry was waiting with his back to her. Thankfully, Harry said nothing as she reached for his arm. There were many, many things that ought to be discussed in due time but not now.  This moment was reserved for Ron.

 

Once again in the living room of the small safe house, she was quickly greeted by some gaunt but hopeful looking Weasleys. Molly was the first to shoot forward, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug before pulling back and studying Hermione with a critical eye. 

 

“You’re too thin,” Molly said, the corner of her lip quirking up.

 

“You always say that.” Hermione smiled back at her. “Is he awake?”

 

“Not yet. They were about to start just a few minutes ago, so shouldn’t be long now. Would you like anything? Tea?”

 

No matter the circumstances, Molly was always fussing after them. “I’m alright. Thank you.” 

 

Hermione turned towards the lumpy sofas and mismatched armchairs behind her and her eyes caught on Harry and Ginny, both with severe expressions and although they seemed to be attempting to whisper, an argument was evident. 

 

Quickly, she averted her gaze and fell into the armchair furthest from the conflict, trying in vain to find something to stare at that wasn’t them. 

 

Harry returned to her side, removing his glasses and jamming his fingers into his eyes.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

Harry’s hands fell to his lap and his neck craned back so he was looking at the ceiling. “I swear, I can’t do anything right.”

 

“I could’ve told you that,” Hermione said seriously and when his narrowed gaze shot to hers, she chuckled into her chest. 

 

“Shagging Malfoy, huh?”

 

“Shhh!!!” she hissed, batting at him with an open palm. “Are you mad? Do you want Molly Weasley to flay me?”

 

Harry snorted, his eyes rolling as he replaced his glasses. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I’d blame her.” 

 

A bubble of rage floated up her throat and it took every ounce of energy and civility in her body not to jump to her feet and scold her friend in front of everyone.

 

Hermione’s jaw was tightly clamped, but through gritted teeth, she managed, “Can we talk about this later?”

 

“I’m sorry.” His hands flew up in a fake surrender. “I guess I just always thought you and Ron would somehow end up together. I thought it’d be the four of us forever.” Harry’s gaze drifted over to Ginny who was, as usual, glowering daggers in their direction. 

 

Their relationship since the end of sixth year had been tumultuous at best and sometimes, Hermione wondered if maybe Harry ought to reevaluate his relationship. Maybe he ought to quit thinking about ‘ _ what was supposed to happen _ ’ and instead take a good long look at ‘ _ what was bloody happening _ ’.

 

Hermoine sucked her tongue between her molars for a moment before speaking and let out a long breath as she confessed to Harry what she had so far only spoken to Draco. “Part of me thought that too, Harry— but I think if it was meant to happen, it would have happened by now.”

 

“Hermione Granger? Are you sure that’s you? Thought I’d drop dead before hearing you talk about destiny.” Harry nudged her with his elbow and his boyish smile warmed her. 

 

She barked a laugh before returning the playful shove. “I just—” Hermione paused, trying to make sense of her thoughts. “If it were supposed to happen, it would be...  _ unstoppable _ . It wouldn’t matter how much we fought it, it’d find a way. I mean, don’t you feel like that with you and Gin? Everything tries to tear you apart and still, you guys have this  _ need _ to be together.”

 

Harry’s gaze focused on his redheaded witch near the door, his lips twitching in an almost smile. “So you’re saying it’s like that with Malfoy?” Harry asked, turning his gaze back to Hermione. 

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione confessed resolutely. “But I know I’m no longer the girl that Ron Weasley fell in love with. I don’t know how to be her anymore and every time he looks at me and sees the shell of  _ her _ — it kills me. Every time I’m not who I’m  _ supposed _ to be, I feel like I’m letting him down.”

 

“Hermione, you could never let Ron down,” Harry reassured, completely missing the point. 

 

“Ron, well, he’s waiting for me to come back. I’m not coming back, Harry. That version of myself died a long time ago and sometimes it feels like I’m standing in front of you all  _ screaming _ for you to understand, and you still tell me I’m going to bounce back. I won’t. I— I don’t think I want to.”

 

Harry’s eyes burned into Hermione’s; she felt her lips trembling as she fought to keep her emotions in check but suddenly everything crashed over her and she wanted to fucking sob. 

 

“You’re right.” Harry swallowed, staring at his hands clasped between his knees. “I think that after this is all said and done, we’ll all realize we’ve been irreparably changed by this war. I think it’d be fucked up if we weren’t,” Harry laughed. “You know,  sometimes I think Ron would have made a hell of a Hufflepuff. And don’t you dare tell him I said that.” The pair of them shared a small laugh as Harry leaned back in his chair and dragged his hands through his messy hair. “But in all honesty— no one loves like he does. His heart is oversized and he feels things deeper than the rest of us— loves on a scale I didn’t know existed. He’ll understand, Hermione.”

 

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, smiling tightly. 

 

A balding, gray-haired healer emerged a few moments later. “Weasley!” he called, his eyes still trained on the chart in his hands. When his eyes focused on the sheer number of Weasleys in the room, he nearly jumped and Hermione and Harry shared a private chuckle as they rose to their feet. 

 

“Right.” The man stared at them with a narrowed glare. “Mr. Weasley is awake, he is in a fair amount of pain, but he’s been given some potions. He’s alert for now. Would you like to see him?”

 

Molly Weasley was already halfway down the hall before he finished his sentence, and Hermione laughed gently at the sound of her stomps quite nearly shaking the walls. The rest of the Weasley’s followed silently behind her, and Arthur clapped a hand on the healer’s shoulder before disappearing after his wife.

 

After half an hour or so, Molly and the rest of the Weasley’s exited. 

 

“Harry?” Molly smiled with a cocked head. “He’s asking for you.” 

 

Although she had not been requested, she stood with Harry and followed him down the hall. She needed to see him, needed to just make sure he was really, truly alright and then if he didn’t want to talk about it, she would deal with it. 

 

Hermione followed Harry into the room and when Ron’s smile turned to a scowl, both of them froze mid-step. 

 

“I don’t want to see her, Harry,” Ron said, as if Hermione were not very clearly in earshot. 

 

She snorted and moved further into the room. “Ronald, please don’t act like this. I’ve been worried sick and—”

 

“And what? What could you possib—”

 

“I’ll just give you two a minute. I have a feeling you need it.” Harry bared his teeth in an awkward grimace as Hermione sat in the chair nearest the bed. 

 

“Harry, there’s no need!” Ron called, wincing as he shifted in the bed. 

 

“I insist.” And with that, Harry was back through the door he had just entered. 

 

The silence that stretched between the two of them was pregnant and palpable. Hermione found herself getting more and more frustrated the longer that Ron refused to look or speak to her. 

 

Finally, she had had enough. “Ron, you can’t—”

 

“Can’t what? Be upset that you shagged Malfoy? I assure you, Hermione, I  _ can _ .”

 

His words made her flinch and her eyes clenched shut. “Ron, you have to understand… it’s not like it was premeditated to hurt you. It was one time…”

 

“And it’ll be the last time, I take it?” he clipped angrily, knowing full well what the answer would be. Hermione sucked in a harsh breath and he snorted at her response. “That’s what I thought.”

 

That feeling was back. The one that made her feel like she couldn’t live up to her ghost. “I can’t handle it if you hate me.”

 

Ron’s glare was positively icy as he snorted his response. “Please, don’t victimize yourself, Hermione. It’s bloody annoying.”

 

At the term victim, Hermione’s sorrow was replaced with rage and she felt her skin prickle with the heat of it. “Ronald, I’m a grown woman. I can choose to have relationships with whoever I choose.” 

 

Ron’s glare narrowed and again he tried to shift in his cot, only to be reminded of his injuries. “You think I give a fuck that it’s Malfoy?” he spat. “I’m insulted by  _ you _ . By the way you constantly treat me as an afterthought when I have loved you with my entire heart since I was sixteen years old. I told you, Hermione. I told you how I felt and when you said you weren’t ready? When you said you were too broken right now? I told you I’d wait. I would have waited forever.” Ron’s jaw quivered slightly and he tore his eyes from her. “It’s nothing to do with Malfoy… and everything to do with you.” Ron’s words felt like an icicle thrust between her ribs and she nearly gasped at the onslaught of it.  

 

Hot, shameful tears slid down her cheeks as she sucked in tiny, shattered breaths. “Ron, it’s… it’s not like that.” 

 

His face crumpled and she could tell that he was reliving the moment when he’d caught them in bed. “You couldn’t even let me know that you’d moved on? You let me hold you through your nightmares, let me wait for you— and then jump into bed with Malfoy. It’s bullshite, Hermione. I’m not saying I’ve been perfect throughout the years but I know I fucking deserve better than this.” His voice cracked at the end as he fought off tears of his own and Hermione’s heart fissured along with it. 

 

Everything about the venom he was spitting at her ruined her piece by piece; mostly, because he was right. 

 

Suddenly and without preamble, the door flew open and Madeye stepped in with a familiar scowl; Harry hot on his heels.

 

“Good. Granger, I’m glad you’re here,” Alastair barked. He either didn’t notice— or didn’t care— that Hermione was openly weeping. 

 

“Weasley, you’re discharged.”

 

“But sir, he’s not ready—” Hermione attempted to interject. 

 

Moody lifted a hand to quiet her. “He’s too high profile to stay here. You’ll be portkeying to Granger’s safe house.”

 

“Wha—” Ron winced as he attempted to right himself in his bed. Hermione’s hands reached for him but when he shot her a snarling glare, they dropped back to her lap. “Sir, I have to object.” 

 

“Does it look like I was asking permission, Weasley?” Moody shouted. “The other safe houses are packed and,” Moody’s good eye flickered over to Hermione briefly and he spoke carefully as he continued. “As things near the end, we need you healed. Poppy says you’ll need a decent amount of physical therapy and there’ll be no one here to tend you. Now, lucky for you, Potter will be accompanying you.”

 

“Sir, I know this strategy inside and out. I’ve been working on these plans for months… you need me.” The veins in Ron’s throat were almost grotesque as he attempted to sit up and Hermione had, finally, had enough and gently pressed him back down towards the pillow. 

 

“That’s precisely what I’m saying, Weasley!” Moody’s barked, taking a single step further into the room. “I need you healed. Can you handle it, Granger?”

 

Her focus flickered down to her scowling friend and she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

Mad-Eye responded with an indelicate little grunt and stormed from the room. Leaving the three of them exchanging nervous, or in Ron’s case— angry— glares. 

 

“Well, this is going to be horribly awkward,” Harry pressed his lips in a thin line and his eyes bulged behind his glasses. 

 

Awkward didn’t even cover it. 

 

This was going to be hell. 

 

* * *

 

**A/N: I’m so embarassed about the delay on this story! Sweetly Broken is now complete and so, I will be working on finishing this rewrite up in the next few weeks.**

 

**Please forgive any mistakes as it is unbeta’d.**

 

**I’ll be back with another update soon!**

 

**Xo - LK**

  
  



	11. 11

June 27th, 2003

 

The late afternoon sun flooded the living room, warming every inch of her skin as her ankles rested on the armrest of the sofa and her eyes drifted closed. 

 

The quiet was lovely, casting a peaceful spell over the house.

 

She suspected this was short lived; as soon her house would be full of self-important, self-righteous, cocky wizards. All of which she just happened to care about deeply. 

 

An hour passed, maybe two, as Hermione dozed. The sun had dropped low, along with the temperature, when she finally pulled herself from her reclined position. 

 

She stretched the sleep from her limbs and walked lazily across the room, drinking in the landscape under  the setting sun. Beyond the porch, just near the cliff, was her small, unruly little garden. It’d been neglected in the frenzy of the last few days and she winced as she took in the wilting goosegrass and overgrown weeds. 

 

_ Tomorrow _ , she reasoned. After all,  _ tomorrow _ , there would be three cranky wizards roaming her house and maybe some time with the earth would be what she would need. 

 

The creaking of the upstairs floorboards and the running of water in the bathroom drew her attention back into the house. Her heart fluttered and her lips folded in suppression of a smile as her thoughts drifted back to her night with Malfoy; what they’d shared  _ before... _

 

He’d promised to return. And he’d kept his word.

 

The reminiscing flutter turned heated desire. She turned from the window, determination in her steps towards the stairs. She set her jaw and squared her shoulders with every step, an attempt to banish any lingering insecurity from her system.

 

Once outside the bathroom door, though, her heart stuttered to a sudden stop before resuming with renewed fervor.  Truly, it felt like the organ was trying desperately to burst from its confines with the way it thrashed around her chest. 

 

With a sobering, steadying breath, she eased the door open, steam billowing out into the hall. 

 

Through the frosted shower door she could see Malfoy running his hands through his hair under the warm water before turning his face to the jets and craning his neck from side to side. A curtain of steam and spray wrapped around him, and she all at once felt far too hot.

 

Without another thought, she lifted her worn t-shirt from her body, her curls fanning around her shoulders. The socks were  discarded next, followed by her denims. She gave a final, disparaging look down at herself, but she banished any thoughts of self-loathing before they could take root. 

 

Draco wanted  _ her: _ that much was evident, and for every moment she wasted doubting it, she wasted it outside his touch.

 

With that final motivation, she peeled the simple undergarments from her thin frame and grabbed the threadbare towel hanging on the back of the door, wrapping it around herself. Just in case... 

 

With her pointer finger, she tapped the glass a few times, reveling in the small yelp it elicited from Draco. He pulled the glass back and Hermione’s gaze found a single drop of water as it flowed from a chunk of hair on his forehead, tracing down his cheek... then his neck, and further south. 

 

“Granger?” he asked, breaking her reverie. His eyes fixated on the fraying towel wrapped around her and he swallowed thickly.

 

Her hands trembled, but her voice was clear: “Is there room for me?” 

 

Draco’s gaze darkened and she watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly in his throat. “Always.” 

 

Tilting her chin one more time, she lifted her hand away from the closure of the towel and took a deep breath. 

 

She was now standing naked in front of Draco Malfoy, and it wasn’t a nightmare from her childhood. No, she’d somehow willingly walked into the situation. 

 

Draco’s lips pulled up slightly and his tongue wet his lips as his eyes roamed her bare frame. He leaned down, hovering his mouth over hers for a moment before closing the gap and pressing his lips to hers. His tongue wasted no time in darting out to trace the curve of her lower lip and when she gasped, he chased her tongue. 

 

His arm wrapped around her waist and led her under the warm cascade of the shower and Hermione, in every way, melted.

 

With a deft little spin she found quite clever given their slippery location, Draco pressed her gently against the hideous mint tile and Hermione shivered at the coolness of it. Her back arched involuntarily, pressing her breasts into him; her lips curling in a smile as she felt his erection growing and straining against her belly. 

 

His hands cradled her face for a tender moment before his long fingers descended and wrapped around the base of her neck, turning her so their kiss could deepen. 

 

Water pelted them as they kissed and kissed, her curls beginning to stick to the sides of her face all the while… Until his touch drifted to her hairline and gently pushed them away. 

 

Feeling a rush of courage, Hermione dropped a hand, taking him in her palm. He released a strangled little noise and his hands flew to either side of her head, resting on the tile and caging her in his embrace as she gave a tentative pump. 

 

“Fuck, Granger,” he mumbled, dropping his forehead onto hers and thrusting into her hand. 

 

Her eyes opened, wide and curious, and she studied the serious lines of his face as she slid down the thick ridge of his member. She was an inquisitive person by nature, and each time she stroked him, she added something new. She twisted her wrist on the way up, rotating her wrist on the way down. Her thumb slid over the red slit at the tip and he gasped in a way that made her beam. 

 

But what was most satisfying was when she slid her hand all the way to the base and a few of her fingers cupped his testicles and he groaned, and pumping himself into her hand once more. 

 

Hermione would have been happy to continue her observations but Draco swatted her hand away and pressed himself into her fully for a moment before sliding his hands over her soaked curves, tracing the swell of her breast and the dimples on her hips. His fingers dug into the flesh of her arse and pulled her mound against him. There was another clever little maneuvering with his hips, and then he was _ there _ between her folds. Not inside her, but skimming her entrance, rocking and teasing her throbbing clit. 

 

Desire coiled deep in her belly, burning in a way she hadn’t known possible. Every molecule in her body seemed on the verge of explosion and she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. She just needed him… needed more.

 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she yanked him closer, crushing her mouth against hers, biting the fullness of his lower lip before plunging her tongue into his mouth. He responded quickly, answering her fevered kiss with one of his own, before hitching her knee up and poising himself carefully against her centre, just barely entering her as he drew back and stared down at her. 

 

Her hands rested on his shoulders as she tried in vain to drive down into him, careful not to lose her footing as she did so. Draco’s jaw fell slightly open and a tightness spread over his features as he sheathed himself quickly inside her. 

 

Hermione permitted a pleasured cry as her nails cut into his skin and she tried to bring him impossibly closer. There was a slight ache deep in the walls of her sex but he stayed there a moment, not moving and she felt the pressure ease; it was nothing like the first time. 

 

At an almost torturous pace, he slid from her sex and pressed slowly into her again, prolonging the pleasure with each movement. 

 

After a few more languid probes, Hermione found herself getting frustrated; she nearly growled. 

 

Draco smirked while watching her and dropped his lips to her ear, the new angle rebounding water up into her face, deepening her annoyance. “Something wrong, Granger?” he purred into her ear. 

 

“Yes,” she clipped, her hands drifting from his shoulders and down the exquisite lines of his torso where they landed firmly on the cuts at his hips. “I need more of this,” she said, trying to move him faster against her. 

 

She felt his chest rumble with a quiet laugh. “I will happily oblige, love. Just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable—” 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she bucked into him. “Yes, yes. I’m quite comf—”

 

The words died on her tongue as Draco dropped her leg and turned her in one fluid movement. Hermione’s brows pulled together as he rearranged them; pulling her hips back into him so she was slightly bent at the waist and her hands were resting on the tile where her shoulders had just been. 

 

“Dra—unghhh.” Her scold morphed into a moan as he drove into her, his hands gripping the junction of her hip firmly as he set a punishing pace. 

 

Yes, the first night had been quite pleasant… but this? Merlin… But  _ this… _ . This was  _ everything _ .

 

The walls of her sex tightened around him and she felt an uncomfortable pressure building between her legs. The water continued to rain over them relentlessly and with each smack of her arse against his hips, she let out a pleasured moan. 

 

His hand slid from her hip to her breast, rolling a slippery nipple between his fingers and groping her breast for good measure before sliding down her torso and finding that little screaming nub between her legs. He continued thrusting into her as the pad of his finger rubbed again and again over her; within moments she felt a furious intensity spread up her spine before shooting through the rest of her limbs and her jaw fell open with a silent wail. 

 

Her body relaxed and his hand fell away from the apex of her thighs. She straightened slightly and peeked over her shoulder, curious as to the happenings behind her. A renewed heat spread over her as she watched Draco staring at the spot where he drove into her, his teeth cutting into his lip as he focused. 

 

She let out a small gasp at the sight and his eyes found hers. “Fuck, Granger,” he moaned, and the hand that had been paying dutiful attention to her slid up her back and tangled in her curls as he grunted his release into her. 

 

The moment quieted and he withdrew, spinning her once again so her back was against the tile and he peppered kisses anywhere he could reach: across her cheeks and down her neck, then a hundred more on her bee-stung lips. 

 

“That was a wonderful surprise.” Draco grinned, bumping his nose into hers. 

 

A pregnant moment settled over the pair and she let out a broken little breath as she pushed the wet fringe from his forehead. “Did I mention that I’m very happy you’re okay?” 

 

A wry smirk screwed up his handsome features and he placed a quick kiss on her lips. “I’m a tough fucker to kill, love. Don’t you worry about that.” 

 

They quickly cleaned and stepped from the shower. Hermione wrapped the same towel from before around herself and Draco planted kisses along her freckled shoulders yet again. 

 

She giggled and squirmed, throwing an elbow behind her as she snuck from the bathroom. Draco responded with a groan as he wrapped a towel around himself and collected his clothes from the wet floor.

 

With a hurried jog to her bedroom, she discarded her towel and threw on a little yellow sundress she’d always loved and tied her dripping hair up in a knot at the top of her head, foregoing drying the mess until later. After a quick appraisal in the mirror that was happily free of self-scrutiny, Hermione padded quickly down the stairs, eager to appease the rumble of her stomach.

 

As she descended, she froze mid-step. Draco’s bottom half was sticking out from the fridge, still precariously dressed in only a towel that hung loosely from his lips. He popped up and studied her as he took his time unscrewing the top of the orange juice before tipping it directly into his mouth; his eyes unwavering and unblinking all the while. 

 

With a small pop her jaw fell open; not only at his barbaric, and frankly hedonistic behaviour, but also as her eyes betrayed her and gaped at the long, lean muscles that disappeared into his towel. She blinked a few times at the trail of curly platinum hair that sprouted just under his belly button before coming to her senses. “You are disgusting. Did you know that? That is communal orange juice.”

 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned the jug, smiling wickedly at her. 

 

“Granger…” he purred, taking a predatory step towards her. “I like the dress.” 

 

“Draco,” Hermione warned in a low voice, taking a cautious step back and her eyes darted the room for her escape route. She decided to make a run for the backdoor, but his reflexes were quick.  _ Too quick _ . 

 

He caught her around the waist and wrapped her in a playful embrace as he nestled his face into her neck and rubbed the scruff of his jaw over her sensitive skin. Her head tilted back in laughter as he turned her and lifted her effortlessly, depositing her rear end on the counter, settling between her thighs.

 

“Stop that!” She pushed his shoulder playfully, attempting to wedge him out, but that was a lost cause as her body automatically reacted as his hands traced up her thighs and his lips found her collarbone.

 

“Sure you want me to stop?” he murmured, voice low. The towel dropped, and was now a forgotten puddle at his feet as he slid her bottom closer to the edge of the counter. 

 

Her hands wound around his neck even as  _ something  _ niggled at the back of her mind… She  _ swore _ there was  _ something _ she had been meant to tell him when he woke from his nap... And she from hers for that matter. But it was still a fuzzy, forgotten mystery as his fingers now toyed with the edge of her knickers...

 

“ _ Fucking seriously _ ?” A disgusted outcry shattered the moment, starting a chain reaction of yanking, tugging, swearing, and twisting as both Hermione and Draco righted themselves before facing the back door to find Harry and Ron standing there.

 

A shameful flush flooded Hermione’s face and her eyes fluttered closed in sheer mortification. “Fucking hell. Is this really happening?” 

 

When she dared to open her eyes again, he'd slipped behind that Malfoy mask of smug arrogance, child held high. But he remained close enough still to catch the faintest dusting of pink staining his cheeks, and she almost chuckled.  _ Almost _ .

 

“Hello, boys. I— I wasn’t expecting you so soon...” Her voice raised several, uncomfortable, octaves and her lips pulled back in a grimace as she focused on door frame over Ron and Harry’s heads to avoid eye contact at all costs.

 

“Right. Shower run long then?” Harry asked with obvious faux interest. 

 

Her still wet hair and Draco’s towel had betrayed them and she flushed scarlet as she made the connection.

 

Draco snorted, Harry groaned, while Ron growled, and Hermione attempted a withering glare across the kitchen to salvage some measure of dignity. “I suppose it did,” she managed. “Anyways, I’m sorry for that. I was just about to make something for dinner if everyone is feeling hungry...” She let the invitation hang in the air while her eyes finally sought Ron’s blue gaze...

 

Ron’s face morphed into a queasy sneer as his eyes darted across the kitchen. “Hope you’ll wipe down the counters first,” he quipped darkly. 

 

Hermione forced all thoughts of a retort to wither and die on her tongue. She refused to rise to the occasion. She  _ absolutely refused _ to cause a bigger rift between Ron and herself— his feelings were valid and she needed to respect them. “Lucky for me, a quick Scourgify is always at my fingertips.” She smiled tightly, hoping to dispel some of the awkward. “Is there anything particular anyone wants? I can make a quick run to town for some groceries.”

 

“For once in my life, I’ve lost my appetite.” Ron declared in a bored drawl, leaning on a crutch and wincing as he continued: “Are the sheets in the downstairs bedroom clean?”?” 

 

“I— er, I haven’t gotten to that yet. I’m sorry… I’ll do that now...” A deep blush spreading from her face and down her neck. “Won’t take but a minute; the linen closet is just at the top of the stairs.”

 

“You haven’t had a patient in weeks, Mione.” Harry’s query was innocent enough, in spite of their previous conversation, but she froze all the same, her brain struggling to come up with  _ something... _

 

It didn’t matter. Ron beat her to it. 

 

“Oh. Sorry, Harry. I should have been more clear.” His voice was cold and sharp, knifing into her back as she moved to the stairs “I walked in on Malfoy fucking Hermione in the downstairs bedroom the other night, so I’d like fresh sheets.” He paused and Hermione felt his pain deep in her heart. “That is, if no one minds...”

 

Hermione’s throat tightened, but she didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge the shame she felt coursing through her. Instead, she continued her trajected path up the stairs to the linen closet, hearing Draco mutter something about ‘ _ pure class’ _ before bounding up the stairs behind her. 

 

“You okay?” he asked. 

 

“Yes, yes of course.” She managed a nod. “I just need to change the sheets and head up to the store. The boys are staying here until the final battle... whenever that is.” And just like that, the peaceful bubble burst into a thousand heavy fractals.. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was going to but you were resting, I dozed, and then—”  She shook her head and Draco wrapped her in a quick but reassuring hug. 

 

“I kept you occupied,” he teased. “Let me get dressed and I’ll go with you to the store.” 

 

Hermione wiped traitorous tears from her cheeks and nodded.

 

Grabbing her wand, Hermione brought the linens downstairs, casting the proper charms to change the sheets and freshen the room up for Ron. 

 

“Okay. It’s ready,” she mumbled, shuffling her feet. 

 

“Brilliant.” Ron smiled falsely at her, trying his best to storm past her angrily, but his injuries kept him from moving other than a clumsy little step. 

 

A quiet chuckle slipped out of Hermione as she watched her friend try to stomp out of the room and she made her way into the potion cabinet and retrieved a pain potion and dreamless sleep. With a heavy step, she made her way into the downstairs bedroom and found Ron sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. 

 

“I’ll leave some food for you on the nightstand if you get hungry later, but you should rest now if you can.”

 

Ron shifted, trying to swing his legs up on the bed, wincing as he did so. 

 

“Here let me.” Hermione hurried to assist him and his palms shot up in defense. 

 

“If it’s all the same to you— I’d rather you not,” Ron managed through a tight jaw. 

 

Hermione’s anger flared. She was all for being amenable and sensitive to his hurt feelings, but this was ridiculous. “It’s not all the same to me, Ronald. You’re here because I’m meant to help you, I’m still your best friend, you know.”

 

Ron’s clear blue eyes finally met hers. They were impossibly full of hurt as he shook his head. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

 

His bitter words sliced through her heart, not because they were meant to be nasty, which they certainly were... But mainly because they were true. 

 

It was the reason why she couldn’t be the Hermione he fell in love with. It was why she seemed hellbent on breaking his heart, even if it’s the last thing she ever wanted to do. She wasn’t that person anymore, for as much as she’d tried. How could she expect Ron to know who this new Hermione was when she’d tried to be the old her for so long.

She swallowed the knot of emotions tangling in her throat and blinked away the threatening tears. “I know you don’t. But I hope someday you will and that you’ll care for that person as much as you did the girl I was before this blasted war. I’m still me, still in here… I’m just different.”

 

Ron’s gaze fell to the floor and she watched as a single tear slipped past his fiery lashes. “I’ll have Harry help me to bed.”

 

Hermione’s fingers trembled as she reached for his shoulder, but when she saw the way he stiffened at her impending touch, she dropped them back to her side. “I’m so sorry, Ron. For...everything. I didn’t set out to hurt you… You know that, right?”

 

He didn’t answer… Didn’t look up at her again.

 

Instead, he reached for the Dreamless Sleep and uncorked it with his teeth, swallowing it in a single gulp while ignoring the Pain Potion. 

 

With a tired sigh, she exited the room, finding Harry sitting on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “This is going to suck, isn’t it?” He squinted at her from behind his glasses. 

 

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed, massaging her temples in hopes of warding off a potential headache. “Ron needs you.” 

 

Harry stood, clapping his palm on her shoulder as he passed, and she turned to watch him disappear into the room she was no longer welcomed or wanted in.

 

* * *

  
  


**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this little update! MCal saved it and made it all so much better and I’m forever grateful, my dear! She was my alpha/beta hybrid for this chapter and I could cover her in virtual (or real) kisses.**

 

**If you wanna chat on Tumblr under the same penname and I love to share moodboards and other pretty things for my fics and the HP universe!**

 

**Until next time!**

 

**-LK**

  
  



	12. 12

The seaside village tucked near the shore was quite adorable. Every time Hermione walked the streets, she vowed she’d come back more often. Between the pastel-coloured awnings and brick buildings, was a winding cobblestone street lined with potted flowering plants. Muggles strolled down the center, wrapped in each other's arms and sat at the patio tables over cups of gelato and tea. It was large enough that it boasted a few cozy restaurants, but still small enough that tourists were rare and excitement even rarer.

 

On good days, before Draco’s arrival, when anxiety and guilt didn’t weigh down every step, she’d wander the streets quietly until the sun went down. But for all her visits, she’d never come with anyone else.

 

In a shared, but slightly uncomfortable, silence, the pair strolled towards the heart of town, their knuckles bumping each other every few steps.

 

“Mind if we eat now? Those two didn’t seem much up to sharing a meal anyway and I’m starving.”

 

“Oh!” Hermione paused a moment before resuming her step, blinking away her shock at the simple question. “Well, I— I don’t see why not.” She shrugged. “There’s a pub just around the corner or the pizza place…”

 

“Pizza!” Draco rushed and she chuckled as he slid his hands into hers. The gesture was intimate and unfamiliar and she felt similar to the first time Viktor had slipped his arm around as they danced together at the Yule Ball. Funny how something so simple could remind her just how very young they both were.

 

Stepping into the pizza place, Hermione instructed him to grab a booth while she ordered and paid for a large cheese pizza and a couple of drinks before joining him under the stained glass light hovering over their table.

 

Hermione couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat, tucking stray curls just to pull them loose again, and using her straw to stir ice again and again… and again.

 

“Are you nervous?” he asked incredulously, leaning across the table.

 

Hermione jumped in her seat, her jaw falling open as she prepared to lie through her teeth. She quickly thought better of it and buried her face in her hands. “It is that obvious?” she groaned from behind her palms.

 

After a long moment, she finally emerged from her shame cocoon and managed a peek back at him. Despite the bruise still shadowing his cheekbone and the few scrapes… he was still the smug, smirking boy from the last few weeks. “It’s just… this kind of feels like a date.”

  


Draco considered her a moment, shrugging. “I guess it’s a date. Do you have a problem with going on a date with me?”

 

A flaming blush spread over her cheeks. Truthfully, she’d never been on an honest to goodness date. There had been the dance with Viktor and then there had been an almost moment at Bill and Fleur's wedding when Hermione thought maybe it could, in some twisted version of reality, be seen as a date with Ron. But no, no real dates. “Well—” Hermione started, clearing her throat and sitting up tall. “It’s just that I’ve never really been on a proper date.”

 

“I shagged you senseless in the shower not two hours ago!” he laughed.

 

Surprisingly, her cheeks burned even hotter than they already been moments before. “Malfoy!”

 

Draco snorted, sitting back in his seat as the pizza was delivered. “Granger, we’ve had dinner every night for a month.”

 

“Just— forget it. Okay? Just dinner… I can handle dinner with Malfoy.” She reassured herself while chewing on her cheek.

 

“Draco,” he corrected, pointing at his own chest.

 

“Right, well, Draco, why do you have a black eye?” she asked too brightly, plucking a piece of pizza from the pan and dropping it unceremoniously onto her own plate.

 

Draco finished chewing the bite he had rolling around in his mouth and wiped his lips with a napkin. “I wish I could say it was something heroic and all, but unfortunately, your spurned lover decked me immediately after Apparating me.”

 

Hermione unattractively choked, banging her fist on her chest as she tried to regain composure. “Ron punched you?” she shrieked.

 

“Yes, the dolt. And might I add, he sucker punched me and then stalked off in quite the hissy fit so I didn’t get the opportunity to repay the favor. ”

 

Hermione was mortified. And how had no one thought to mention this little altercation between the pair of them? She knew Ron wasn’t pleased with how he found out, but she wasn’t sure that in all his wild temper tantrums he’d every actually punched someone.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Draco snorted indelicately, rolling his eyes as he took another large bite. “It was Weasley. It probably would have hurt more if his baby sister punched me. Trust me, I’m fine.”

 

There were still more questions that Hermione had regarding that night. About the mission… About his mum. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to shift the mood of the evening so quickly.

 

On the few occasions that Ron and Harry returned, they would spend a few minutes just being themselves again, but then, inevitably, the war would loom over them again.

 

Not here. Not tonight.

 

Instead, they ate and talked easily, as they had for the last several weeks. Mostly they talked about potions and she complained about her garden looking out of sorts. Much like her life these days, it had turned unruly and messy and in desperate need of some attention.

 

“I’ll help you tomorrow,” he offered easily and she smiled to herself. He must have noticed because his features pinched as he nodded at her waning grin. “What?”

 

“It’s nothing. You’re just… you’re much different than you were in school.”

 

Tension settled between them, a tension Hermione didn’t pretend to understand. “Is that so?” There was an unexpected edge to his voice as he huffed out a breath and tossed his napkin on the table. “Did you know me very well in school?”

 

Certainly, she hadn’t said anything that surprising. He was a downright bully in their younger years and he, despite all of his cynical grumblings, was nothing like he was in his youth.

 

“It’s not meant to be insulting, Draco… I just meant you’re kinder than you were then.”

 

Draco responded with a withering glare as he ran his tongue along his teeth. “Granger, you didn’t know me back then, so how could you possibly know if I am kinder now than I was then?” he arched an eyebrow at her.

 

At that, she laughed. “Draco Malfoy, are you actually trying to say you weren’t a rotten little tyrant at Hogwarts?”

 

“Bollocks, I’ve apologised for that and you know it—”

 

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened! And it surely doesn't mean you get to be a prat to me now for acknowledging out loud that you’re not the same kid you used to be. I don’t know how on earth this entire conversation has gotten so twisted that I’m now being scolded for saying something nice about you!” Hermione shot from her seat and stomped out of the restaurant without another glance behind her.

 

Once on the street, she didn’t slow her enraged pace as she marched towards the little tree outside of town that she Apparated from, groceries be damned. His arm found the crook of her elbow and he turned her back towards him.

 

“I’m sorry I was a prick in school. I said that and I meant it— still do. But please don’t make assumptions about who I was back then. I’m not an idiot, Granger. I know you think I was just a punk ass kid who liked to rile up the Golden Boy and his little sidekicks, but there was more to it than that. Reasons that have followed me since I was a kid.”

 

“And what reasons are those?” Hermione asked with a steeled jaw, crossing her arms tersely in front of her.

 

“I’m a Malfoy, Hermione. Malfoy’s have reputations that need to be protected.” Although his words were quite snobbish, his voice was desperately trying to convey something else entirely.

 

“A reputation as a prat?” she asked haughtily, on the verge of abandoning this conversation, and possibly him, by heading straight back to the cottage.

 

“I wish things were as simple for me as they were for you. I can’t tell you how much I wish I had parents that steered me away from the bullshite that I found myself drowning in by sixteen years old. I kept up appearances in order to save my own hide, and I’m not saying that’s the fucking honorable thing to do or the courageous thing to do. But hell, if I’ve never fancied myself as either one of those things. I did what I had to in order to survive my childhood and when I knew better? When I saw your face... when I watched Lavender’s body be mutilated by Rookwood?”

 

Draco dragged in a broken breath, his shoulders shaking slightly from the intensity of his confession. Hermione wanted to say something, wanted to wrap him in her arms and bury her face in his chest for a moment. But she didn’t. Some hurts couldn’t be hugged away. Some deserved their time to bleed so they could heal.

 

“I changed. I got out. And I’m fucking sorry that I didn’t do it the way you would have. I have to live with my decisions for the rest of my life and I’ve spent every moment since then trying to move forward. But no matter what I do, I get dragged back. If I could I would change it all, I would. So yeah, I’m sorry I called you nasty names in school but please stop judging what you can’t understand.”

 

Hermione chewed on the thought for a long moment and staring up into his cloudy greys, she realised what she already knew.

 

“You’re right,” she acquiesced, and Draco’s stunned features were enough to make her chuckle. “Don’t make that face! Sometimes, I apologise… sometimes.” She turned on her heel and began a slower walk through town, this time towards the grocer.

This was a risky move after such an impassioned speech, but Hermione was starting to think she might know Draco. Might now that he would want nothing more than to leave the words there on that street corner and never go back. Behind her, he released a relieved sigh and jogged to align their steps.

 

“Is that what you call an apology? I’m pretty sure you have to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ for it to count.”

 

“Well, you can bloody believe that’s not happening. And to be fair, I called you some rather nasty names as well,” she poked, lightening the mood.

 

Draco scoffed, resting his arm over her shoulder so that she would be tucked into his side. “You lot were never very creative. I could hardly be bothered to care.”

 

“Whatever you say, Ferret.” She bit down on her lip to hide her smile, but her hand slid around his lower back as well.

 

“Like I said, no creativity whatsoever.”

 

\-----

 

After unloading the groceries, Draco slipped upstairs to rest and Hermione perched herself on the counter, staring at a bottle of wine that seemed to be screaming at her. Her head canted back and forth a few times and she inwardly cursed, snagging it from it’s home and opening it quickly.

 

The taste of the light red washing over her tongue made her moan and she felt her shoulders relax (although she hadn’t realised they’d been tensed in the first place). Beautiful, sought after, silence filled the air and she released a tired breath.

 

“THE FUCK, POTTER! OUT!”

 

She winced, her lovely moment shattered by the sound of two obstinate wizards coming to head upstairs. Clenching her eyes shut and trying to swallow as much of the wine as she could, she ignored the centaur-esque stomping down the stairs.

 

The boys shouted her name in unison and her face screwed up as she took the final gulp of wine from her glass.

 

“What?” She groaned, her eyes peeking open only enough to pour herself another glass.

 

“Potter was sleeping in my bed!” Draco said petulantly and her eyes narrowed over her wine glass at him.

 

“Who says it's your bed?” Harry snorted, leaning arrogantly against the fridge and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

Draco turned to him, his jaw hanging open and his hands gesticulating wildly as he tried to form words in his anger. “Potter, I’ve been sleeping in the fucking bed for six weeks.”

 

“Actually,” Harry eased, his chin tilting condescendingly. “You technically spent the first few weeks down here… so…”

 

The disgusted noise that left Draco made Hermione giggle as she tried to edge her way out of the kitchen, clutching to both her glass and the bottle of wine like a buoy.

 

“You can’t claim someone’s property because I wasn’t here, Potter. What kind of fucking barbaric society did you grow up in?”

 

“Hermione! Did you hear that?” Harry’s voice was near tattling and she glowered at him. “He said Muggles were barbaric—”

 

Draco cut him off, again throwing his hands in the air and taking an angry step towards Harry. “No I fucking didn’t! Get your shit out of my room, I’m tired.”

 

“Where exactly am I supposed to sleep then, Hermione? Has your house grown an extra wing I’m unaware of.”

 

Hermione’s shoulders slumped. She wasn’t getting out of mediating this argument it seemed. “Harry, can’t you sleep on the couch? It was his bedroom, we can’t kick him out just because you’ve arrived.”

 

It was Harry’s turn to scoff as he left Draco’s side and took a few determined steps towards Hermione. “You’re telling me he’s going to be sleeping in that bed?” His emerald eyes were near frenzied as he tilted his ear towards her, waiting for a response.

 

She shrugged, taking a small sip of her wine. “Where else would he sleep?”

 

“Hmm, I have the strange inkling he’ll be in your bed.” Hermione flushed and her eyes narrowed at her so-called best friend. “Why should I have to sleep on the couch when he’s going to be spending all night in your sheets anyway?” Harry asked it so casually that it disarmed her; he might as well have been asking why he couldn’t have his pudding after eating only half his dinner.

 

“Oi!” Ron shouted from the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen. “Could you fucking quiet? Remember me in here? Gravely injured and forever uncaring about where the fuck Malfoy sleeps? Shut it!”

 

Hermione’s eyes flickered closed and she gritted her teeth together. “Fine. Fine. Draco, there are two empty drawers at the bottom of my dresser and I sleep on the right-hand side. Happy, Harry?” she growled, turning for the back porch and letting the door slam loudly behind her.

 

The quiet found her for only a few more minutes before she heard the telltale creak of the door behind her.

 

“Ugh, what?” she snapped, immediately regretting her tone as she spotted Harry’s remorseful eyes. “Sorry. It’s… it’s been a day.”

 

A day it surely had been. Shower sex and near counter sex, followed by angry best friends. Fighting with her new lover on a sidewalk and then mediating between her other best friend and said new lover. Enough… enough for one day.

 

Harry’s shoulders pulled up towards his ears and he tugged his lips into a flat line as he fell into the chair next to her. “He’s moving his stuff… I couldn’t just stand there and watch, could I?”

 

“Fine,” she breathed. “Just… let me enjoy this wine and quiet for a few moments. Okay?”

 

“‘Kay.”

 

Tucking her legs under her, she curled into her chair like Crooks used to do, letting her head lull back as the sound of crashing waves sounded around her.

 

It was painfully short-lived.

 

“I can’t believe you and Malfoy…” Harry clucked, possibly to himself.

 

“Yes, I know. Quite the star-crossed lovers. Now, shhh.”

 

There was another beat of silence, but it seemed Harry was unable to help himself.

 

“It’s just… and I mean, I know he’s changed, Hermione, but there’s so much history there. How do you look past it?”

 

Hermione didn’t answer for a moment. She remembered their row outside of the pizza place, remembered the hurt painted on his features as he tried to convey what his experience had been like.

 

But, she’d had experiences too, hadn’t she? Surely memories that mattered and formed who she was today. Bullies had a way of shaping you like a rough stone, even if you never gave them permission. Regardless of his intent, his words had hurt her more times than not and there still was so much between them that needed to heal.

 

Gods, she was tired of healing.

 

This war was a bleeding wound that no amount of bandages, or potions, or salves, or magic could heal. Left unattended, wounds like this had two options: bleed out or fester.

 

“I don’t look past anything, Harry. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting and at the end of this, we will all have sins to atone for. I know that you’ve seen how much he’s changed but he still carries everything that happened before. We all do.” Those final words caused a shiver to run its course up her spine. The baggage she hauled was something she didn’t she’d ever be able to rid herself of and when she blinked, a flash of Lavender's lifeless eyes came to her. She flinched away from the memory and shifted in her chair.

 

Harry stared at her before plucking her wine bottle from the table and pulling it directly to his lips.

 

She was surrounded by heathens.

 

His chin jerked toward the door and his voice fell a little quieter. “Did he tell you what happened with his mum and Ron?”

 

Her heart clattered in her chest and she shifted in her seat so that she could look into Harry’s eyes. She shook her head. “I didn’t want to ask…”

 

“Do you want to know?” Harry’s thick brows lifted over the rim of his glasses and she nodded eagerly. “Well, I only heard Ron’s briefing so, you know, take this for what it is.” Harry took another long pull and rested back in the wicker chair. “They stormed the room and Draco was the target. HE was there. The whole bloody thing was a trap. Draco was bound to a pillar before he’d crossed the threshold and Narcissa was brought before him. Crucio’d again and again.” He shook his messy hair and huffed a disbelieving breath. “Can you fucking imagine?” he scoffed. “Anyway, that’s when Ron was hurt. He was trying to get to her and took down Nott. You-Know-Who killed her while Draco watched. The fucking monster didn’t even Avada her.” Harry’s face contorted in a pained grimace. “He sliced her open and made Draco watch as she bled out.”

 

Hermione’s was planted firmly over her gaping mouth; she was horrified. In her wildest, darkest imaginings...she would not—could not— have imagined this.

 

Flashes of the last twenty-four hours burned behind her lids. Showers and pizza and fighting, as if he hadn’t just gone through the most traumatizing experience a human could endure. Her fingers trembled against her lips as she attempted to steady her breathing; her belly flopping dangerously in her stomach and threatening to send back the wine she’d hastily guzzled.

 

“My God.”

 

“You-Know-Who left after that, commanded everyone retreat and just… left. Sadistic fuck. I don’t know we beat this kind of monster, Hermione. I don’t know anything anymore and every day I get closer to pointing my wand at his face.”

 

A new kind of pain settled in her chest, a pain she’d been ignoring for longer than she could remember. Across from her sat her messy haired, emerald eyed friend. The boy, that despite all her efforts, she couldn’t keep from harm's way... The boy who traveled through time and space at her side… The boy who rode dragons with her.

 

At the very end of all this, either Voldemort or Harry would be dead— if Sybil Trewlaney were to be trusted (which Hermione would never attest to.)

 

These were the realities that had been safely kept from her while she hid in the safe house. But with Harry here and real and tangible… she was reminded of his immortality more than ever.

 

“You’ll win, Harry,” Hermione said, even as the words clung to her throat. She desperately clung to that hope.

 

His eyes flashed with something that looked too much like fear and she felt a familiar prickle at her sinuses. The boy who lived, scared to die.

 

Fuck all of it.

 

Hermione wasn’t a witch who cursed but fuck all of it. Voldemort who longed for genocide and his Death Eaters who made parents bury their children. Fuck Rookwood and fuck this war. Fuck all the death and her garden and her potions. Fuck everything that was waging and warring inside her that was trying to claw its way out of her.

 

Fuck the younger Hermione who believed that she was going to end up happy at the end of this. She had filled herself full of false hope and now present Hermione was going to have to reap the sorrows.

 

Her lips folded in on themselves as she tried to fight the tears slipping down her cheeks. Anger and hurt swelled inside her and she reached out to crush her friend to her chest as she let herself sob.

 

“You’ll win,” she repeated, more for herself than him.

 

 

* * *

 

**A/N: Biggest hugs to MCal for your love and attentions as you alpha/beta my garbage into something close to readable. I love you.**

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione paused briefly outside the door to her—well,  _ their _ — bedroom. Her mind kept dragging her back to what Harry had told her on the porch and she felt heavy with information that wasn’t hers to hold. With a fortifying inhale, she pressed the door open and found Draco laying flat on his back, arms folded neatly behind his head as he stared up at the outdated popcorned ceiling.

 

The corners of his mouth puckered but his gaze never wavered from the ceiling. “Potter told you, then?”

 

“Draco,” she breathed, her heart twisting uncomfortably in her chest. “I… I’m so very sorry. I was going to ask you, I just didn’t want to…”

 

“Ruin our night?” He released a dry chuckle and moved one hand to drag down his face before letting out a tired breath. “Yeah, me either. I thought I could steal a few more hours of things just being...normal. As normal as they can be when your mum is dead, that is.” 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He hesitated a moment. “No.” 

 

The simple honesty of his answer breathed something to life in her and with a slight trembling in her limbs she crossed the room and crawled over the well-loved quilt to find a spot next to him. They stayed there, silent for awhile yet. It wasn’t her strong suit, remaining quiet; there were a million thoughts echoing in the chambers of her mind, begging to be spoken. But it seemed not to be what he needed and so she waited. After a few long moments, she noticed his gaze had misted and there was a quiver to his jaw as he opened his mouth to speak. 

 

“He wouldn’t have killed her yet. At least not yet; they might’ve been able to get her out. He killed her because I was there, kept me alive to watch and then sent me away with the memory of it for the rest of my life. How fucked up is that?”

 

With a stuttered breath, she reached her hand out to rest it on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I wish I had something else to say, but I am so sorry.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

 

Draco moved an arm to wrap around her, so she could burrow into his side. “Can I do anything?” 

 

Turning his face towards her, he pressed a soft kiss to her hairline and squeezed her tightly to him. “This is enough for now, Granger.” 

 

Enough.  _ She was enough.  _

 

* * *

 

 

June 28

 

The next morning, Hermione woke early after a perfectly soundless sleep; she hadn’t had one in quite awhile and it felt jarring to blink awake so calmly. Sliding out from under Draco’s embrace, she donned her robe and gave a lingering stare at the sleeping wizard in her bed and then left the room. Ron needed tending to and she thought some breakfast might soften the encounter. 

 

Ignoring the light on in the bedroom in the adjacent room, she made herself busy making breakfast and poured some juice from the contaminated container, assembling it all on a tray as she mentally prepared herself from the one-of-a-kind ire of Ron Weasley.

 

When breakfast had been properly plated she made her way towards the slightly adjacent door, toeing it open with a bright smile. “Good Morning! Glad to see you’re awake.”

 

“How could I not be? Sounded like a giant was rummaging through your kitchen,” he grumbled as she set the tray down over his lap. “Did you poison this?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “If I wanted to kill you, I’m sure I’d think of something far more exciting than poison.”

 

“What? You’re going to sit there and watch me eat?” he asked, his voice thick with annoyed accusation.

 

Hermione sighed, already exhausted by this interaction and his sour disposition.“I need to check your injuries, Ronald.”

 

“Can’t someone else do it?” 

 

The nasty sound of steel scraping against porcelain as he stabbed at his eggs made the hairs on her arms stand up. “Are you going to stay mad at me forever?”

 

“Probably,” he shrugged, unaffected in the slightest. 

 

“ _ Ronald _ !”

 

With a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes. “Just... leave it alone, alright? There are bigger things goign on in my life than your sex life, so go on, be happy. Flaunt it all over this damn place. I don’t care. Just leave me out of it.”

 

“No! I won’t just drop it. I won’t just leave it alone. If you’re mad, let’s talk about it.” She knew she was pushing him, quite possibly pushing him too far, but she wasn’t willing to forget this particular relationship. Ron Weasley was too important, even if she was rubbish at showing it. 

 

The sound of his fork clanging against the plate made her jump as he lifted his gaze slowly to hers. “How could I  _ not _ be mad, Hermione?” 

 

“What is it? I didn’t tell you first? When was I supposed to do that? You guys left me in this house to rot, wallowing in this endless depression. You hardly came by unless you needed me. When was I supposed to have this big conversation with you? I know I’ve hurt you, I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t be hurt if I was you. But I didn’t have a lot of ways of sparing you!” She was shouting, unable to quell the torrent of emotion coursing through her system and that, of course, meant she was crying. One always accompanied the other. 

 

“Oh, that’s rich, Hermione. Truly.  _ We left you here? _ Don’t be so bloody ridiculous.  _ You _ left  _ us!  _ You needed the space, we found you the space. What exactly do you think I’ve been doing, Hermione? On holiday?” Ron adjusted his seat, attempting to lean in towards her but grimacing at his injuries as he tried. “I’ve been fighting a war, planning missions, eating cans of cold beans every night for crying out loud. You’ve been here, playing house, and I’ve been killing myself to make it the other side so that  _ someday _ , I might have a chance to make you happy. I’ve always known we were supposed to be together, ever since we were kids. I fell in love with you on a train ride a million years ago, and you left me.” Somewhere in his tyrant, Ron’s voice grew softer and pained. 

 

She closed her eyes before she spoke again. “I—I didn’t leave you.  _ I died _ . I know that you see this horrible carnage everyday and somehow you close your eyes at night and wake up and fight again. And I wish I could do that too. But in that forest—on that night—I died. I don’t know how else to describe it. There were parts of me that were soft and still hopeful. They’re gone. I felt—sometimes I still feel— like this shell of a girl I don’t know anymore. 

 

Hermione’s voice caught, and she blinked away the tears welling in her eyes as she continued. “I’ve felt so filled with hate and anger and just...unbearable sadness. And every time you looked at me or touched me, I was reminded that  _ she _ was gone. That you fell in love with her, and I had no way of bringing her back. All those things you wanted for us, I wanted them too.”

 

With the back of her hand she wiped away the tears sliding down her cheeks and dared a glance up at him. Ron was studying her, his brow furrowed in thought. Then, by some glorious miracle, he let out a little huff and opened his arms to her. A new round of tears broke through as she crawled into the small bed next to him, curling into his side even as he flinched from the pain. 

 

“Why can you be that person for Malfoy?” he asked, his voice drenched in thick sorrow that she wanted to wish away. 

 

“I’m not her. Not even with him. I’m just this new version of me, and I’m all sorts of fucked up and angry and sad and sometimes, lately, I’m even happy. And I know that’s selfish, but I just need that to be okay.” A haggard sob erupted from her chest and his arms tightened, holding her together.  

 

“Okay,” he hushed her. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

 

She realized an awful pattern of Ron shouldering the pain, so she could feel comfort. He was always putting her first. And she was always letting him. 

 

* * *

 

 

After checking Ron’s injuries—and managing only a slight blush when she pressed her hands on his naked chest— she had discovered that the Healers had done mostly everything. Ron Weasley was going to be just fine after a little R&R and physical therapy to get his movement back. 

 

So now she stood at the edge of the small garden and assessed the damage. She’d allowed it to become overrun in the chaos of the last few days and she looked at it forlornly. What she had so lovingly and meticulously cultivated, she had allowed to fall to the wayside. She started slowly, lazily almost, but quickly she had found a fire inside her and began ripped at the weeds, tossing them over her shoulder haphazardly. 

 

Once that was done, she leaned back on her haunches and surveyed the garden. The soil looked stale and she grabbed her handheld garden fork and raked over the soil, careful not to disturb the roots of the herbs she had wished to grow for so long. They were intertwined now, no way of separating where some plants began and the others ended; where one thrived they all did, where one fell, so did the rest. 

 

After an hour or so of tilling and weeding, her garden had returned to it’s previous pristine state and she smiled to herself as she used the back of her forearm to wipe the sweat from her brow. 

 

“Granger, are you always up before the dawn?” Draco’s voice called out to her and she squinted over her shoulder with a crooked smile as her sights set on him. “I would’ve helped you, if you’d woken me.” He nodded towards the now tended garden. 

 

“I know,” she breathed, the corner of her lip quirking as she stared at the small plot of earth. “It may be a mess, but it’s my mess.” Shaking her head, she stood and dusted off her gloves on her shorts and reached into her back pocket, presenting him with a bag of seeds. 

 

“I had some flower seeds from one of the batches Neville delivered. I didn’t plant any, but I thought you might want to?” She handed him a pack of seeds with a smatter of wild purple flowers on the front, chuckling at his puckered brow and tight, awkward smile. “They’re called Forget Me Not’s. They’re wild flowers, so they don’t really take much tending, but I thought we could make a clearing… for your mum.” 

 

Draco looked up at her with a tender expression and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead before wrapping her in a deep hug. 

 

“That’d be nice. Thanks, Granger.” 

 

“Anytime, Malfoy.”

 

* * *

 

 

That evening, after they had suffered through a horribly awkward dinner, the four of them retreated to the cliffs where Hermione had cleared a small flower bed. Ron moved a bit slower than the rest and Hermione slowed to walk next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist to help him shoulder his pain a bit for once. 

 

Draco sprinkled the seeds out around a stone in the middle of the bed that Hermione had magically engraved. 

 

**Finally at peace. N. Malfoy. 1955-2003.**

 

When the seeds had been laid, there was a moment that felt almost anticlimactic in nature as Draco breathed slowly and purposefully through his nose, his eyes trained on the stone while the other boys stared at their shoes. 

 

Hermione brought out her wand and waved over the fresh soil. “Herbivicus.” 

 

Before them, greenery sprouted, thin stems winding together, flowering in small purple buds that bloomed before their eyes. 

 

Ron reached up to clasp a hand on Draco’s shoulder, his fingers tightening just as Draco reached out to hold Hermione’s. 

 

In that moment, however short it might be, there was no more hurt between them. Only healing. 

 

* * *

 

 

**A/N:**

 

**No one at all:**

 

**Me: I finished rewriting Tergeo!!**

 

**Haha, it’s been awhile if anyone is still following this little diddy. I wrote a story this summer called Unchained that was also a war fic and I couldn’t work on both at the same time. Unchained is now finished, yay! So I dove right back into Tergeo. I’ll be posting the beta’d chapters tonight and the last 2 as soon as I get them back from beta.**

 

**Biggest thanks to MCal for all her lovely alpha/beta-ness. She’s the only reason this rewrite exists and I’m so grateful to you for keepign me going!**

  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

July 3rd, 2003

 

“Ronald, you need to get up. It’s been days, and you need to stretch your back,” Hermione managed through gritted teeth, attempting to collect her temper before it exploded as she peered into the room at the bottom of the stairs. The boy hadn’t moved in days, perfectly content to sleep and eat his life away. 

 

“I’m injured!” Ron glared at her from the comfort of his bed, an old Quidditch magazine laid open on his belly.

 

“Mad-Eye wants you ready to go in just a few days and you’ve hardly even left your bed. I need you to get up; we can spar some spells if you’d like!” Hermione said brightly. 

 

“Oh, that sounds brilliant.” Ron rolled his eyes, his lip curling up disdainfully “ _ Ron, get out of bed so I can kick you on your ass when you’re not ready! _ ” 

 

Her rage bubbled to the surface and she marched across the room with an angry turn to her brow. “Enough!  _ GET UP _ !” Hermione grabbed a hold of his ankles and started yanking him off the bed.“Go take a shower! You stink!”

 

“OI! Get off!” Ron shouted kicking his feet at her grasping palms. Draco and Harry appeared panting in the door frame, worried. 

 

Hermione landed in a huff on her bum and all three boys started laughing, “Oh, funny is it?  _ Fine _ ! You two!” She jabbed her finger in Draco and Harry’s direction. “Get him into the shower and outside within forty-five minutes!” She jumped up and dusted off her butt, pushing between their shoulders as they doubled over in laughter. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione twirled her wand between her fingers absentmindedly. She hadn’t fired it in a long time. These days it was barely used, and when it was it was only for a little extra help around the house. 

 

She flicked her wrist out towards the ocean and a couple red sparks sputtered out of the tip. She frowned and repeated the action, yielding the same result. 

 

“Ron’s just getting dressed,” Harry called from behind her. 

 

“Thanks. We need to get him active… Mad-Eye won’t be happy if he shows up and Ron’s been lounging all week.”

 

“You sure you still now how to use that thing?” Harry jerked his chin towards her wand hand. 

 

“Very funny,” she said dryly. Then her face lit up. “Will you duel me?”

 

“ _ What _ ? No.” Harry backed up. 

 

“Come on! Just shields and sparks, if you get hit, game over. It’ll be fun!”

 

Harry shifted warily from side to side, clearly wanting to practice with his wand as well. Hermione took that as a yes, and jogged back a few spaces. Turning to her side, she jutted her right foot out front and trained her wand on him. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“I don’t know if we—” Harry started but was quickly stopped when a purple spark came shooting out of Hermione’s wand straight at him. He whipped his wand out and raised it above his head, bringing a shield along with it. Hermione grinned. 

 

Another purple spark, followed quickly in succession by two more. Harry dodged the first and was able to bring up another shield against the following two. The shield would stay in place as long as his wand did, which meant he was safe but couldn’t attack back. 

 

She felt a presence at her side and turned her head briefly, keeping her wand pointed at her friend. It was Ron, hair dripping wet and a hunch to his shoulders. He smiled at her, lifting his wand to point at Harry. 

 

“Not fair!” Harry shouted. 

 

“Doubt it’ll be fair in the final battle, mate,” Ron called back, grinning as he nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s see if you can’t get us both, Chosen One.” 

 

Hermione drew back and fired a round of green sparks out of her wand, these ones pouring out in short bursts one after another, pounding against Harry’s shield. His eyes were closed, both hands on his wand, holding his shield. 

 

Ron, with considerable effort, straightened his back and fired a spark into the far side of his shield, surprising Harry. Dropping his shield for an instant, Harry quickly turned away from the magic, and a shot of magic exploded towards the pair of them. 

 

Crouched behind Ron’s shield, Hermione fired a long orange jet at Harry, the sweat on his brow was visible from where she stood. He dodged it quickly and returned fire, hitting Ron in the leg. 

 

Ron let out a yell and Hermione wasted no time in tagging Harry in the gut with a final orange spark. He took a step back and narrowed his eyes at Hermione. 

 

“I was distracted! I was worried about Ron!” Harry shouted, smacking his hand at the orange dust on his shirt. 

 

Hermione and Ron laughed, and she batted away at the mark on Ron’s shin. 

 

“Sure, sure, Chosen One.” Hermione laughed brightly before turning to Ron. “How’s your back?” 

 

As she rose to meet his gaze, Ron swallowed thickly, quickly averting his gaze. “It’s fine. A little sore. The shower helped.”

 

“You need to keep pushing it, you’ll have full mobility again in no time.” Hermione walked over to her garden and pulled a leaf off of one of the sprawling bushes. “Chew this for a few minutes, it’ll help.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re not too bad at that, you know?” Draco’s voice startled her and she quite nearly jumped out of her skin. 

 

“Don’t do that!” she chastised. 

 

“Do what?”

 

“Lurk.” She narrowed her eyes and he laughed at her. 

 

“Lurk? Walking onto the lawn is now considered lurking?”

 

“You know what I mean, you’re always sneaking up on me.” 

 

“You’re too jumpy.  _ But _ you’re not bad at dueling; better than I thought,” 

 

“Well… I’ve had my fair share of practice, I guess,” Hermione said solemnly, her mind drifting back to a time when her wand wasn’t just shooting sparks and folding linens. 

 

There was a long beat of silence and when Draco interrupted it, his voice was low and serious. “I’ve received an owl.”

 

“An owl?” She chuckled, peering up at him through the bright sun with a squint. “Who on earth would send an owl here?”

 

“It’s from Lucius,” Draco said quietly. “He wants to see me.”

 

Hermione swallowed the bile threatening to climb up her throat at the thought of sending anyone she cared about to have a tet-a-tet with Lucius Malfoy. “And?”

 

“And… And I’m asking you what you think I should do.”

 

The edges of her eyes tightened as she considered it. “I don’t think I can answer that for you, Draco. Do you want to see him? Did he say why he wants to see you?”

 

Draco opened his mouth to speak but before he could speak a new voice boomed. “That’s enough, love birds. Malfoy! Inside,  _ now! _ ” 

 

Alistar Moody stood in all his terrifying glory, his magical eye whizzing, missing nothing. With a forlorn look, Draco sucked in a deep breath and turned to follow Moody inside. Hermione did the same, although she’d not been summoned, so she stuck to the back of the room, while Moody waited for everyone to settle in. All three boys sat around the table, heads hung low. 

 

“Weasley! How’s your recovery?”

 

“Getting there sir, few more days and I’ll be ready.”

 

“Good,” Moody grunted. “Our intel places You-know-who at Malfoy Manor, even if he’s not when Potter shows up, he’ll show. Malfoy, we will need you to come back to HQ, and fill in the holes of the maps we have, then you can bring copies back. Potter, you need to know those maps like you know the halls of Hogwarts. You’ll also be assembling your team,”

 

“Beg pardon, sir. I know who I want on my team.” Moody didn’t respond so Harry continued, “Ron and… Malfoy.” Harry’s gaze shot to Hermione’s, his emerald eyes drenched with guilt and his lips downturned. Her heart was pounding but she wasn’t sure she was still breathing. 

 

“That’s fine. That is, if Weasley can manage to bloody walk by then.”

 

“I’ll be ready, sir,” Ron said proudly. 

 

That earned another gruff from Mad Eye, and he tossed three velvet satchels on the table in front of them. 

 

“Portkeys. Blue bag will get you to St. Mungos, red bag will bring you back here and the black bag, none other than Malfoy Manor. Divy them up, there are more than enough to bring you back and forth as you need during the battle. I’ll send a Patronus when it’s time.”

 

“Where’s training, sir?” Harry asked with a furrowed brow.

 

“You’ll train here. I’ll be sending Aurors and Order Members until it’s time.”

 

“When?” Hermione breathed. Moody glared at her, noticing her presence for the first time. 

 

“Confidential. But… soon,” he allowed with a frown. “We’ll need you ready for injured, get your stores ready. We’d be bloody fools to imagine we are all making it out of this alive. Malfoy! You’re with me.” 

 

Draco stood, his face betraying nothing as he clasped his hands tightly in front of him. “I’ll be back soon.” He spared a look at Hermione with a tight smile and Moody’s hand came down hard on his shoulder; with a crack they were gone. 

 

A small whimper broke through the silence and Hermione was horrified when she realized it was her own. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” 

 

Jogging up the stairs, Hermione stowed herself safely in her room, slamming the door shut and sitting on her hands at the edge of her bed. All three of them. Together. Marching off into a battle with men and women who were far more experienced—and most likely more lethal. Hermione was powerless against it all; anxiety rose and crashed inside her as she considered joining them until her breaths were coming fast and hard, her visions darkening at the edges. She didn’t hear as the door creaked open to her right.

 

“We knew this was coming,” Harry interrupted, his voice even and cautious. 

 

Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus on the feeling of her diaphragm expanding and contracting, but she  _ couldn’t _ . All she could feel was thrumming of panic under her skin, bubbling and begging to be paid attention to. 

 

“Merlin, Harry. She’s having a fucking panic attack!” Ron pushed Harry to the side, as her wide eyes searched the room for him. Her buoy in the hurricane. Wrapping his thick arms around her shoulders, he squeezed her tightly until she was sagging into the comforting touch, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. The bed dipped as Harry sat on the edge and his hand found his way to her knee, awkwardly squeezing for lack of anything else to do. 

 

Ron’s grip loosened and her nails clawed into his shirt in a vain attempt to pull him back. “Harry, just squeeze her like this a minute. I’ll be right back.” 

 

She was transferred to Harry’s arms, who pulled her closely, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Malfoy’ll be back soon, Hermione. We’re all gonna be okay.” 

 

Ron returned, a small vial from the cupboard downstairs in his hand and he quickly unstoppered it and offered to her. “Drink it, Hermione. I’m not asking,” 

 

She didn’t fight; tipping the vial to her lips, she let the cool lavender fragrance waft over her. Soon, her eyes were drifting shut and she slipped into a lovely dreamless sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ The air is too heavy; dragging in breaths is exhausting as the body bind curse continues to keep her limbs immobile. Above, stringy wisps of clouds, obscure the moon as she can feel the heavy breath of a man on her cheek and the absent pulling and tugging of her clothes.  _

 

_ Her mouth falls open, ready to scream for help when her gaze locks on Malfoy, standing just several feet away. Silent pleas for help die in the warm night air as his jaw tightens and he looks away.  _

 

Jolting from her bed, Hermione patted the sheets crumpled in disarray all around her. Beads of sweat rolled down her temple, her chest heaving in a vain attempt to steady her breath. Shouting could be heard from downstairs and as her eyes settled on the empty room, she made out the tell tale dusky light of early morning. 

 

_ Just a nightmare. _

 

After stretching the sleep from her bones, she headed for the shower, recognizing the shouting as  _ mostly _ friendly and belonging to her housemates. Under the stream of water, she pushed the nightmare to the recesses of her mind, allowing the hot jets to pulse at the tension in her shoulders. 

 

Surely she could have logically anticipated all the events that Mad Eye had presented. And of course Harry would want Ron with him, and if it was in Malfoy Manor he would want Draco there too. Nobody on earth would be able to help him navigate the property like the heir to Malfoy Manor could, but that still didn’t soothe the sting of having them all leave her. 

 

She was always being left. Or rather, she was always staying.

 

Regardless, this was too quickly becoming real. The war that had lived in the abstract for months, was now at her doorstep, stealing her loved ones from the safety of the cottage.

 

After she dragged her weary body from the comfort of the shower and dressed, she padded down the stairs, she saw all three boys fighting over a large piece of parchment, each one fighting for dominance as they pointed at various parts and shot scowling looks at the others.

 

“ _ No! _ That’s the Drawing Room— _ this _ is the Parlour,” Malfoy explained, his voice tight and irritated. 

 

“Malfoy,” Harry deadpanned. “What does it bloody matter what I call it? It’s a large useless room that your spoilt arse probably never set foot in!”

 

Draco’s hands gesticulated wildly over the map as Hermione chuckled to herself and found a spot leaning over the counter. “It matters! He would never be in the Drawing Room, however he  _ might _ be in the Parlour. It’s larger, grander. He also used to hold court in the Ballroom or the Grand Dining--”

 

“Gods, you’re so fucking rich,” Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes. “It’s annoying.”

 

“I slept in a closet for eleven years.” Harry narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Both of you shut it.”

 

Hermione reached for a harvesting basket and cleared her throat. Three pairs of nervous eyes regarded her carefully and she flattened her features before announcing, “I’m heading out to the garden.” Making her way out the back door, she let it slam loudly behind her. 

 

Kneeling next to her garden, Hermione let out a long breath and began plucking the leaves of the Screechsnap, depositing the leaves in a smaller basket. Each time a leaf released from the stem it let out a small wail, and for this reason Hermione always preferred to get this harvesting out of the way first. 

 

She moved onto the Dittany and Asphodel, letting her mind wander with the mindless work, collecting enough of each to fill a small woven crate, and mentally preparing for the cauldron work ahead. She would need to have an excess of Essence of Dittany, Invigoration Draught, Dreamless Sleep, Blood Replenishing Potion, and a number of others. Her personal stores were impressive, but not enough for a battle of this magnitude. 

 

“Granger.” Draco’s low voice interrupted her thoughts and she jumped slightly. He laughed. “You’re so jumpy.”

 

Hermione grunted in a very un-Hermione like fashion, unsure what to say. She could feel a lump of tears settle in her throat and she didn’t trust them not to betray her. 

 

“Do you need any help?” 

 

“You should get some rest. Have you slept at all?” She couldn’t bare to look up at him. It wasn’t his fault and if she could be there alongside him, she would. But looking at him—Merlin, it would unleash the torrent inside her and she couldn’t very well weep onto her Weeping Belles, they did that enough for everyone. So instead she continued plucking away at the bush in front of her. A few traitorous tears fell down her cheeks and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

 

She felt Draco lower himself behind her so that she was nestled between his long legs. His arms snaked around her middle and she couldn’t help but settle into his embrace, more tears falling freely. His buried his face in the curls around her neck.

 

“What’s wrong?” he breathed. 

 

“What  _ isn’t _ wrong?” she laughed dryly. “Any day now, the three of you are going to march off into battle and I could never see you again. Doesn’t that scare you at all?”

 

“It terrifies me,” he said honestly. “But when I saw you the day in the woods, I made a decision... I was going to be better. I can’t just run away now, I’ve come too far. Besides, the Dark Lord has forbidden anyone to kill me… I’m untouchable.” His voice carried the lilt of a dark joke and even though she allowed herself a brief chuckle and respite from her tears, she threw back a bony elbow into his ribs. Pulling his arms tighter around her, she rested her head back on his shoulder.

 

“You’ll be careful, right?”

 

“I love you, too,” he smiled and pressed his lips against her neck. 

 

“What?” she turned, startled, “I… I didn’t say…”

 

“You did. In so many words… and I love you, too.”

 

A strange sensation coiled around her heart, squeezing it tightly as she considered the words he laid out so simply for her. Love. It was...ridiculous. She shouldn’t be falling in love with anyone, but if she were, it shouldn’t be with someone who was leading the crusade into battle with Harry bleeding Potter. 

 

However, the longer she mulled it over, the less it tasted like vinegar until, with a start, she realized she’d already gone and fallen in love with him too. Her lips parted, an annoyed huff slipping out before she smacked her mouth shut again. 

 

“It’s alright if you don’t—”

 

“No,” she interrupted, her brows kitting tightly together until a crease formed. “I actually do. Which is surprising…”

 

“Merlin,” Malfoy choked, his chest vibrating with laughter. “This is exactly how I expected this to go.” 

 

“I just mean, logically speaking, that me falling in love with you and you  _ also _ falling in love with me is quite a statistical anomaly given how we started out all those years ago.”

 

“Look at us, Granger. Who would have thought in a confession of the heart you could find a way to sneak in statistical anomalies. Beating the odds all over the place.”    
  


A bright trickle of laughter spilled into the air and she turned her head towards him, quickly finding his lips. What she started, he deepened, his lips moving firmly, purposefully against hers. 

 

He broke away panting, his forehead pressed against hers.

 

“Care to tuck me in, Granger?” 

 

* * *

 

**Beta love to Mcal. Thank you my darling!**

  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Hermione stared at the bubbling cauldron in front of her, a large batch of Dittany coming to a boil at last. The spoon churned with the help of her magic as she studied the instructions intently. She’d made this particular potion no less than a dozen times, but she wasn’t the sort to presume such important things. 

 

Ron entered the room, a slight limp to his gait and a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. 

 

“Malfoy’s an arse,” he grumbled, plopping down on the sofa, his feet automatically kicking up and landing on the coffee table. “He just knocked me on my ass, and he  _ knows _ I’m on the mend!”

 

“Don’t whine, Ronald,” she remarked absently, thumbing to the next page. “I’m sure he’s just trying to push you. I thought Aurors were coming to train with you lot anyway?”

 

“Yea, should be here later. Hey, ‘Mione?” Ron’s voice dripped in thick saccharine. “Would you mind throwing together a ham sandwich for me? I would, you know, but Malfoy really did a number on me.” 

 

Hermione’s narrowed glare peered over her cauldron at him, meeting his bright, pitiful eyes with a sneer.“Are you joking?”

 

“Just once! I’m bloody knackered.” Ron’s head fell back in a dramatic gesture as his arm curled around his midsection. “ _ Please _ , Hermione. I’m starving, I wouldn’t ask—”

 

Hermione sighed, staring at her cauldron with another thirty minutes left to simmer and then back at her friend. She’d given him quite the runabout lately…

 

“Fine,” she breathed, tone laced with frustration. “Just this once.”

 

She placed a bookmark in her potions book and turned for the fridge. While going over the next steps of the potion in her mind, she idly pulled the sliced ham, cheese and mayo out, laying them on the counter and reaching for the breadbox.

 

Hermione peeked into the cauldron, for propriety’s sake, and then peeled open the ham. Her stomach lurched and she quickly shook her head, swallowing the bile that suddenly lept up her throat. Bracing her hands on the edge of the counter she took a few long breaths and then tried again, her eyes catching on the pink meat; the smell quickly accosted her and she audibly gagged, her hand coming up to guard her mouth.

 

“Merlin, Hermione? Are you alright?” Ron sat up, peering at her from the couch with a worried tug to his brow.

 

“Umm—” she swallowed another gag, her free hand curling around the counter once more. “Yes. Yes, I’m—” Another gag and with that she slapped her hand over her mouth and sprinted for the upstairs bathroom, craving privacy. 

 

She made it just in time, emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. The next few minutes were spent retching and clutching at her empty stomach. When the urge to vomit finally passed, she reached up for a piece of toilet paper. Empty roll. 

 

She groaned, annoyed at her housemates and then opened the under sink cabinet in search of a replacement roll. She found what she was looking for, but her hand froze on the new roll. Next to the toilet paper was a box of feminine products, and her eyes narrowed at them. When was the last time she needed those? It’d been awhile… Had it been too long?

 

_ Shit. Shit. Shit.  _

 

Immediately she knew it’d been far too long. She was not a stupid girl, quite the opposite and yet, she’d been doing nothing but having unprotected sex for the last few weeks as if the least inconvenient thing she could do is wind up pregnant right now. There was a chance, yet; she was late and the ham was bad… 

 

Hermione marched into her bedroom, closing the door and burying her hands in her hair.  _ Damnit! _ This couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t possible. She gripped her wand with a shaking hand. She’d learned the spell as an adolescent, but she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to know. If she didn’t  _ know _ , she could ignore it. It wasn’t real if she didn’t really know. But, being who she was, she lifted her wand anyway.

 

“ _ Gravidum Revelus _ .” Her voice shook as her wand hand passed over her womb. 

 

_ Nothing. _ Nothing happened. She let out a sigh, paired with a dry laugh, relief breathing new life into her. 

 

But suddenly, a faint golden glow started to emit from under her belly button, growing stronger. 

 

There was a quick knock at the door, but before she could register the sound the door was flung open. Ron was there, ham sandwich en route to his gaping mouth as his eyes caught on the soft, pulsing light over her abdomen.

 

She dropped her wand from her belly, her eyes rounding as she struggled to remember how to breathe properly. Sidestepping him, she slammed the door shut and then returned to her bedside, falling in a heap at the edge, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Mione…” Ron’s face was somehow more pale than it’s normal snowy disposition. Merlin, what was Malfoy going to say? “Is that… Are you…”

 

“ _ Shut up _ !” she cried. “Don’t even say it! Why the hell am I crying? I’m always bloody crying!”

 

“Oh, Merlin. Did you tell Malfoy?” Ron’s eyebrows perched high on his forehead as he stared at her. Her features melted into a withering sneer, overpowering the sobs threatening to wrack her body.

 

“Ronald, you just walked in on me finding out. How on earth would he know?” The hysteria of her discovery began to take over, harsh breaths coming too quickly as she realized with a severe degree of certainty that there was, indeed, a small Malfoy baby growing inside her. “What in the hell am I going to do? This can’t be real. I didn’t think—”

 

Her breaths were far too fast and the edges of her vision started to darken as her fingers dug into her thighs. Ron found the place next to her, wrapping his thick arms around her once again.

 

“You can’t say anything!” She demanded between sobs, her wild eyes searching his. “Not until I—” Her words caught in throat as she pieced together that there were indeed options for her, not options she’d ever considered before, but options nonetheless. “Not until I figure out what to say.”

 

Ron’s clear gaze fell slowly over her face, his shoulders dropping. “Of course, Hermione. I won’t say a word.” 

 

She sank into his embrace, her arms winding around his waist as she wrestled with the fact that she was, indeed, pregnant. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

* * *

 

 

Over the next few days Aurors and Order Members shuffled in and out of the house. All three boys were busy morning til night and when they weren’t they were shoveling food in their stomachs or falling asleep on any surface they could reach. 

 

Hermione was exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open. She attributed some of her fatigue to the new parasite she had growing deep in her belly, as well as her days full of potion brewing, and tending to the garden. 

 

At night, Malfoy crashed next to her, barely mumbling a goodnight and pressing a kiss to her cheek as he drifted off. And as she lay there, studying the steady, even breaths of his easy slumber, she imagined the ways she might ruin his life by announcing their impending child. Everything felt wrong—everything  _ was _ wrong.

 

Meanwhile, Ron’s gaze followed her wherever she went. He inserted himself unnecessarily in her daily routine, opening doors and lifting the laundry basket. It annoyed her to no end, but he stayed true to his word and never brought it up. 

 

The four of them sat around the dining table, Hermione was lost in thought as the boys devoured their lunch, her fingers drumming across the smooth wood as she ignored the rioting of her stomach. There was an unease amongst them that hadn’t existed even in the thick of it all. There was no talking, no joking. Just the sound of masticated food being swallowed. Hermione’s stomach roiled with each smacking noise. 

 

Finally, she pushed her plate away, standing from the table, the chair scraping across the floor. Making her way towards the window, she paused to peer at the back lawn and her naked garden. She had harvested every usable leaf, berry, and root available. Her work was not in vain; there were vials upon vials of potions in her cabinets. It needed to be enough to save an army, anything less wasn’t enough. 

 

Across the horizon a jet of blue, ethereal magic streamed towards her. She took a few steps back, giving a wide berth as a Patronous materialized in the front room. A proud ram, kicking it’s hooves into the ground before shaking it’s horns and nothing in particular. 

 

“It’s time. Grab your portkeys; meet at Grimmauld. Now.” Alistair’s voice lanced through her and she gasped, one hand instinctively coming up to rest on her belly. 

 

_ No. _

 

It was too soon. She hadn’t said enough, not nearly enough. Her head whipped around as three chairs scraped against the tile floor. Her heart wrung painfully, dropping down into her belly as her hands fell useless to her side. 

 

Harry moved towards her first and his arms wrapped around her tightly as she remained limp. “We’ll be back. Stay here and stay safe.”

 

Reaching down, Harry snagged a small satchel of each of the portkey. With a soft pucker of magic, he left. 

 

Harry was gone. 

 

Her heart splintered as she stared at the spot where he had been standing seconds ago. 

 

Ron was next, his features drawn and grave. “Stay safe.” 

 

Another fissure in her breaking heart. 

 

Malfoy stood staring at the floorboards, his hands jammed in his trouser pockets. There was a dark, pained twist to his features that she wanted to soothe away with a touch or a kiss. 

 

“I love you.” Simple and overwhelming. It was everything and not nearly enough and her stomach dropped as she thought maybe she ought to just say... _ something. _

 

“Draco, I—” She froze.  _ Some Gryffindor. _

 

Draco made the few steps towards her, reaching down to grab the final bags off the small table, leaving only one emergency set behind. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

 

Words failed her and in their absence, she lifted onto her tiptoes and twisted her arms around his neck, dragging him into a kiss that she prayed said it all for her. Their lips coated with her tears and Draco lifted her slightly and held her flush against him until the tips of her toes were barely brushing the rug. 

 

Draco pulled back and held her face between his hands. “I love you, Hermione. And I’m going to be back, okay?” 

 

She nodded. “I… I love you.” It was all she could muster, and it wasn’t nearly enough. 

 

He smirked and with a crack, he left her. Her heart finished its shattering, and she fell to her knees.

  
  


* * *

 

**A/N: There are two chapters left! I’ll get them posted ASAP and that’ll be that on Tergeo!**

 

**Thanks to my beta, MCal; you are a queen amongst queens.**

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

****Trigger Warning: This chapter deals with graphic depictions of violence and war. It also deals with the threat of miscarriage and blood loss is present. If you have any reservations about these triggers, please feel free to PM me on FFN, Tumblr or Facebook and I can spoil any bits for you or send you a redacted chapter. LK****

 

Three hours. Three fucking hours. That’s how long it’d been and no word. She wasn’t sure she even expected news from anyone but she’d expected an injury or two. 

 

She walked the length of the room again, her only companion was the waning sun and the ticking from the clock on the wall. There was nothing left she could do to prepare for today. Nothing to do but wait. The vials were sorted, linens folded, and wand in hand and at the ready. 

 

But no one came. 

 

The pull of the portkeys on the table beckoned to her and her eyes flicked over to them for the hundredth time. Shaking her head, she resumed pacing. 

 

“I can’t just go,” she said to no one at all. “I haven’t been in a battle in almost a year! I could kill someone—I could kill myself!” Another few steps and a pressing detail burst to the front of her mind. “I’m bloody pregnant! What a ridiculous thing to be at a time like this and—yes. I can’t go.”

 

She shouldn’t; that was obvious. Anyone with half a brain would tell her that. But, she couldn’t just sit here. Her skin felt alive, anxiety thrumming in her every fiber and she desperately needed to move. 

 

With nothing else to do, she began formulating a hasty plan. She’d bring her potions and stick to the outskirts of battle, healing anyone left behind. Surely, she would go unnoticed and could quickly portkey back if she things got out of control. 

 

Sprinting towards the closet, Hermione wrenched out her leather shoulder bag and slung it over her shoulder. Her next stop was the potions cabinet and she shoved as many vials as she could in the space, along with handfuls of torn strips of linen and a tourniquet. 

 

Catching her wand between her teeth, her hands wound behind her to plait her hair and she steadied herself with a deep breath. 

 

She could do this. 

 

What she  _ couldn’t _ do, though, was sit here and wait for bad news. She placed an open palm on her belly, and closed her eyes. Praying that her tiny parasite would stay safe. 

 

Scooping up the remaining bags of portkeys, she stowed them safely away and poured out a single stone from the black pouch. As soon as it touched her hand she was transported. There was no time to think twice. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


The woods surrounding the Manor reeked of blood and black magic. The lingering scents wafted through the air and accosted her before she’d even fully materialized among the trees. She shielded her face with the crook of her arm and stifled a gag. Apparently, the tiny parasite didn’t appreciate the smell.

 

The air was humid and tangibly wet, causing her stray curls to cling to her face and neck. At first, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that signaled that a battle waged on nearby except the distant sounds of death. To her left was a giant boulder and she darted for it, crouching quietly behind it as she worked on evening out her breath.  

 

A sudden flashback to the last time she’d been in a nameless forest surrounded by death crossed her mind and dread twisted in her belly. Her breaths turned sharp and quick as her vision blurred, her fingers failing to find purchase on the back of the boulder. The last time she made that mistake, someone died and while the emotions of that realization were still fresh and raw, it wasn’t a mistake she could afford to make again.

 

Pushing off the boulder, Hermione turned towards the sounds of battle. She moved purposefully towards them, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her wand. Silently, she listed off the spells she would mostly use first, trying to remaster the wand movements that she hadn’t practiced in months. 

 

There was a groan to her right and her senses prickled and she made her way closer to the noise. Lying there was a male Auror, choking on his blood as it sputtered onto the underbrush of the forest. Next to him, a pretty young woman lay with pallid skin and a blank, unseeing expression. By the look of it, she’d most likely been Avada’d and Hermione was thankful for that. A quick death might be all one could ask for out of a day like today. 

 

She assessed the Auror, staring into his panicked, bloodshot eyes. Something shifted inside her as she met his wild gaze, her frenzied adrenaline calmed and turned into drive; her mind cleared and,  _ finally _ , her breath evened. The curse appeared to have taken a toll on the man from the inside out as there were no visible injuries. St. Mungos for him. She reached into her pocket and poured out one stone onto his neck, and he was gone. 

 

Her gaze tugged towards the girl lying a few paces from her but she turned away before she could linger there. She passed more dead bodies, each one with a sad story they’d never get to tell, but she couldn’t stop for them. Realization slammed into her all at once: no one had come to the cottage because they weren’t surviving. They were dying.

 

Hermione stumbled across a girl leaning against the base of a wide oak tree, tears striping their way through the dirt caked on her cheeks. She had long wavy blonde hair and Hermione stopped in her tracks, her eyes rounding as a memory threatened to take hold. Besides the similar hair, the girl honestly didn’t resemble Lavender all that much, every girl was Lavender. 

 

She crouched next to her. “Are you injured?”

 

“I think—” The girl attempted to move her arm and a low hiss slipped through her teeth. “I think my shoulders been dislocated. It’s my wand arm.” When their gazes finally met, the girl in front of Hermione furrowed her brow. “Do I know you?”

 

Lifting her hands to assess the injury closer, she spoke absently from the corner of her mouth. “I’m Hermione. I’m with the Order.” 

 

“ _ Hermione Granger?” _

 

“One and the same, I’m afraid. What’s your name?” Hermione’s fingers pressed more firmly, exploring the unnatural formation of the bone, earning a broken sob from her patient. 

 

“Cora,” she said through gritted teeth as she attempted to lift her useless arm and dropping her head back to rest against the tree. 

 

“Cora, I can fix this. But it’s going to hurt tremendously. I’ll have to cast a  _ Silencio _ , ok?”

 

“Yeah, alright.”

 

Casting a hasty Silencio on Cora, Hermione lifted her wand, her wrist trembling as she focused her attention on the ruined appendage. 

 

“ _ Episkey Major _ .” A loud snap filled the air. Cora cradled her arm, her face contorted in pain, a silent cry twisting her features. Cora settled, her breathing turning heavy and labored as she held tight to her shoulder. Hermione lifted the  _ Silencio _ and reached into her bag, fussing until she felt the familiar shapes of the vials she was searching for. 

 

“Take these,” Hermione instructed, barely managing a look up at the girl. “Invigoration Draught and Pain Potion. Let them work for at least 10 minutes, then you should be feeling up to moving it. It’ll hurt the next few days; I’d get it in a sling when you can—” Hermoine paused wanting to give her more; more advice or potions or  _ something _ . “Do you need a portkey out?” 

 

Cora shook her head, her gaze travelling to her dirt caked hand resting uselessly at her side. “We’re here to finish this, yeah?”

 

Hermione’s breath hitched and she nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

  
  


As she made her way closer to the lawns of Malfoy Manor the bodies she encountered grew exponentially. The shock of it all dulled, which she wasn’t sure was good or not.

 

The ground was littered with the dead; distant, unseeing eyes staring ahead, limbs twisted and bent, bodies ruined. There were very few left behind to be helped, but Hermione stopped for every one. The living had soldiered onward, leaving only the dead. 

 

The noises of battle pressed down around her. She was getting far closer than she had originally anticipated, but she hadn’t seen the boys yet and the injured weren’t as prevalent as she would have thought. 

 

As she crested a small hill, the skirmish on the front lawn came into view and she braced herself against a nearby tree. Jets of light crashed against each other and feral shouts rose above it all, sending a shiver climbing down her spine. She tried to make sense of the chaos in front of her, but the familiar thrumming of her anxiety danced along her skin, making her knees weak and her vision darken.

 

In the epicenter was something important and she strained to focus on the messy haired boy in the middle of the fray. Stumbling for another tree, her fingers curled vainly into the bark and her gaze locked on Harry and Voldemort trapped in a lock of magnificent magic. 

 

The light from their wands pushed against each other, each one fighting for ground and although the details were lost from this distance, she felt she could see the determination set on her friends features.  _ This is where it ends _ . 

 

Just then, a shift, Harry’s magic inched forward. A strangled war cry pierced the air and the fighting around them ceased, wands falling limply to their sides.

 

Voldemort faltered and fell to his knees.; his body disintegrating into the air in a cloud of ash.

 

For a single, wonderful moment, the battle was calm. Everyone stared at what had just happened, all in disbelief. Hermione let out a happy cry, her hands coming up to cover her mouth as tears streamed over her cheeks.

 

_ They won.  _

 

Too quickly, the sounds of battle erupted again. She felt the shimmer of a ward falling and Death Eaters Apparated straight from the lawn. 

 

Her adrenaline swallowed her anxiety and she pushed lightly from the tree, searching for a shock of blonde or ginger hair. 

 

A thick arm registered in her peripheral vision and wound tightly around her throat, constricting her airway. A matching arm snaked around her waist, crushing her small body to one far larger. 

 

“Alright, girly. You’re gonna get me the fuck outta here. D’ya understand?” The strangers hold on her throat lessened and clawed at his arm as she tried to drag in desperate gulps of air. “Don’t even think about fucking screaming.”

 

His voice was too familiar, and it chilled her blood as she fought his hold. 

“Let me go!” she growled, kicking her heels into his shins as he dropped her at his feet. His boot met her ribs with a sickening crunch and she fell in a heap to the ground, her hands sliding to the baby in her belly and not to her injury as fresh tears tracked down her cheeks. 

 

“I need you to Apparate me before this place is crawling with the lot of you.” 

 

_ Can’t Apparate. _ The realization triggered something inside Hermione, her gaze travelling slowly up to his dirty, crude features. She knew exactly who this stranger was. The same man she had imagined killing for the better part of a year. 

 

_ Augustus Rookwood.  _

 

Rage coursed through her veins, her lips purling back in a snarl as she jumped to her feet, her nails clawing down his face. Rookwood fought her off, his thick hands finding her neck and slamming back into the ground, holding her there with his weight.

 

Rookwood snorted, dragging a hand through his greasy hair as he pinned her down with one hand. “I will strangle you with my bare hands, you stupid bitch.”

 

“ _ Hermione! _ ” Ron’s voice pierced the air and she kicked her heels in the dirt in a vain attempt to wrench herself free as her tears dried on her cheeks. 

 

Her hands came up to cradle her scalp as Rookwoods fingers tangled in her hair and yanked her to her feet, once again holding her body against his as he aimed his wand at Ron. 

 

“Back up, Ginger. This one’s gonna help me outta here. Apparate me somewhere safe, and then I’ll let you leave, love... _ probably. _ ” His tongue darted out and slid up her neck and she let out a low sob as she fought against his hold one more time. 

 

Ron ground his teeth and pointed his wand back at Rookwood, taking a quick step towards them both. “Don’t take him anywhere, Hermione. Merlin,  _ what were you thinking _ ?” Sparks fizzled from the tip of Ron’s wand, but she knew he wouldn’t fire. He couldn’t without risking her and the baby. 

 

“Take my advice, Red. Beat it.” Rookwood jerked his chin back the way Ron had come. “Apparate me out of here, little girl or I will slice your boyfriend’s neck. Got it?”

 

“ _ Ron _ …” she cried, not sure what she was supposed to do as Rookwood pressed her wand into her hand. Her eyes clenched shut and she tried to pull a spell to the front of her consciousness. 

 

An  _ Avada _ would do, but she couldn’t do the proper cast, couldn’t even muster the magic with her brain in such a fit.

 

Ron’s gaze flickered and the tip of his wand left the pair of them and jutted into his throat. “ _ MALFOY! _ ” His voice boomed loudly through the trees and Hermione’s synapses fired off with action before she had a full plan. 

 

She’d no idea if Draco was close enough to hear, but it distracted Rookwood for a fraction of a second. Hermione pointed her wand at his grown and sent a jolt of magic through her wand. Rookwood cried out, shoving her away and cursing to himself.

 

Falling to her knees, her wand slipped through her fingers and she scrambled for it, coming down on her belly as her fingers wrapped firmly around it’s etched wood. 

 

Turning, she lifted her wand towards Rookwood, just at his own hand sliced through the air and a curse passed his lips in Ron’s direction. Before a spell could materialize on her tongue, her neck snapped to Ron and everything fell apart. Blood spread across Ron’s abdomen, seeping through his fingers as he fell to his knees. 

 

Fury and black magic pumped through her as she turned back to Rookwood and fired a spell she never thought she could be filled with enough hate to cast. 

 

“ _ Avada Kedavra _ !” 

 

Her voice didn’t waver, her hand didn’t shake. His life slipped from existence and his body thudded to the ground. 

 

“ _ Granger? _ ” Draco panted, his eyes rounding as he took in the sight before him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

 

She crawled over to Ron, sucking in quick, sharp breaths as she summoned her bag behind her. 

 

“Di…  _ Diffindo _ !” Slicing what remained of his shirt, Hermione blanched as she saw that the cut was too deep. Hysterica clouded her vision and she blinked at the wound, desperate for an answer. 

 

“M—Malfoy—” Ron sputtered. “Get ‘er out.” 

 

Malfoy fell to his knees next to them, his hand coming down to rest on Ron’s shoulder. With trembling hands, Hermione sifted through the contents of her bag, gasping as she found the vial she was searching for. Wiping the tears with the back of her hand, she managed to unstopper the vial and poured the Blood Replenishing Potion down his throat. 

 

Ron coughed around the potion. “ _ Malfoy _ !” 

 

Malfoy hushed him, staring at the angry wound on his chest as Ron’s skin paled. “Mate, I’ll get her out. We just gotta get you—”

 

“She’s bloody pregnant, Malfoy! Get her out!  _ NOW _ !” 

 

Hermione fumbled with her red satchel, sifting out a single stone and pouring it onto his chest. With a soft pop of magic, Ron was gone. 

 

The two of them remained, Hermione struggling to reign in her wild sobs as Malfoy stared cooly at her. Rising to her feet, she ignored the feeling of wet denim against her thighs. She knew what was there; knew exactly what Malfoy was staring so transfixed at. 

 

Blood.  _ Her blood. _

 

The swell of adrenaline waned and she felt weak in its wake. With trembling fingers, she reached into the little red bag and brushed her fingertips against a smooth pebble, magic pulling at her and whisking her away to St. Mungos. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

The stark white of the ceiling tiles came into hazy view, settling into neat squares stacked next primly next to each other. Hermione groaned, her throat hot and dry as she blinked awake.

 

What was the last thing she remembered? The forest. The fight.  _ Rookwood. _

 

No, there was more. 

 

She’d landed at St. Mungos, desperate to track down Ron but had been stopped before hse made it down the hall. She’d frantically tried to follow Ron but they stopped her, spotting the blood staining her legs and the paleness of her skin, most likely. 

 

Draco had been there, materializing moments after her and wrapping his arms around her as she succumbed into a panic attack. A vial was shoved towards her and Draco pushed it back at them. Vaguely she registered him telling the healers that she was pregnant.

 

_ Pregnant. _

 

A new vial was presented and tipped to her lips and she’d faded from consciousness tucked in Draco’s arms on the cold floor, the hospital a frenzy all around them and a cramping deep in her belly. 

 

She’d no idea how long it’d been since then. Wincing, she tried to sit up.

 

“I wouldn’t do that…” Draco’s voice was distant. Cold, even. 

 

She fell back against the pillows, her gaze snapping to his as she let out a low sigh of relief. “ _ Draco _ .” She croaked, her vocal cord rubbing painfully against each other. “Can I have some water?” 

 

Her palm rested against her throat, cradling it gingerly. It felt bruised from her altercation with Rookwood. 

 

_ Rookwood _ … He was dead. She’d killed him. A tremble settled in her limbs as she remembered the feeling of the Avada pushing through her wand, splintering a part of herself. 

 

Chair legs scraped against the tile floor and suddenly, Draco was there. With a long sigh he poured water into a cup and handed it over to her with a vacant expression. She gulped at the refreshing water, sighing with relief as her head rested back against the pillows. 

 

Draco sat on the edge of her bed, his gaze trained on her fingers and after a long moment, he reached out to hold her hand in his. His voice may have been cold, but his face wasn’t angry, just guarded and cautious.

 

She wondered if they’d told him about the fate of the baby. A painful twist of dread coiled tighter in her belly as she thought about what it would feel like to be empty. 

 

“Is… is everyone…” Hermione couldn’t bring herself to ask specifically about Ron or the baby. She wasn’t sure she could handle the truth. 

 

“He’s going to be alright. He’ll have one hell of a battle scar, but he’s gonna be all right.”

 

“And—”

 

Draco studied her with a furrowed brow, his eyes dark and stormy, his jaw tight. “You’re still pregnant.” 

 

Surprising relief rushed through her and Hermione broke down crying, sucking in fast breaths as her hand splayed over her abdomen. When she finally looked up at him again, his trepidation was plain on his features and her nerves once again the best of her. 

 

“What’s wrong? You’re—” Her breath caught painfully, sticking to the sides of her throat. “You’re not happy about the baby,” she said plainly, grappling with the emotions warring inside her.

 

The thought that Draco would not be pleased about their baby had indeed crossed her mind a time or two; they were young, after all. They didn’t know what it was like to be together without the looming threat of death and war. 

 

Draco snorted, his fingers tightening around hers as his free hand dragged down his face. “It’s not that, not in the slightest. I’m so angry with you, Hermione.” 

 

Hermione’s jaw fell open.  _ Angry? _

 

“You promised you’d stay in that safe house. What were you thinking coming out there at all, let alone in your condition? What if—” Draco’s voice cracked as a tear slipped past his lashes. “What if I’d lost you...  _ both _ ?” His fingers moved to spread across hers and she felt a plucking at her heart strings. 

 

“Not to mention,” he continued, “but why in the hell did Weasley know before me? And I swear if that child comes out with ginger hair—” 

 

She’d have been furious at him but for the quirk of lip in a teasing smirk. Batting at him with the back of her hand she stifled a painful laugh. “I was doing the test on myself and he saw after rudely barging in on me. He tried to get me to talk to you about it, but I wasn’t sure how… and then you left. I know it was stupid of me to come, but I couldn’t just sit there.”

 

“You  _ should _ have just sat there; you could have died.” 

 

“I should have told you right away— about the baby that is. I can’t believe I was so stupid. But if you don’t… if this isn’t what you want...”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Draco’s facade cracked, his shoulders slumping as he cradled her cheeks between his palms. “Are you mad? I mean, ideally, yeah— maybe we’d have waited a bit longer.” A dark chuckle escaped him, his brows knitting together as he lost himself in thought. “But, it’s you, Granger. I’m ecstatic to have my thestral hitched to your cart.” 

 

He nudged her playfully at her brain powered into overdrive, chasing errant thoughts and worries that shouldn’t possibly be of any consequence right now. “We just came out of a war, Draco. We have nothing. No jobs, no money, certainly no idea how to raise a baby. What in the hell are we gonna do?”

 

Draco barked out a loud laugh.“ _ You _ have nothing, maybe. I, on the other hand, am incredibly wealthy.” She gaped up at him, finding him smirking in all his smugness. His cocky smile melted into one more genuine as he pushed a curl back from her temple. “Don’t worry, Granger; our son will want for absolutely nothing.” 

 

The tender moment died as her features fell dejectedly. “First, I guarantee you right now that any child of mine will not a fraction of spoilt as you were. Second, you do  _ not _ know it’s a boy.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco shrugged. “Malfoy’s have boys. They have for generations.” 

 

“Well, I’m a Granger. Our genes might be stronger than you think.”

 

“Oh I have no doubt he will have a whole mess of hair…”

 

“You’re impossible.” She laughed, wincing at the pain it wrought as she tugged him next to her.

 

“You love me,” he grinned. 

 

She sighed, long and drawn out as his hand moved to rest again on her belly. “I suppose I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry arrived in her room sometime later, pushing an empty wheelchair. With surprisingly minimal help, Hermione shuffled to it’s seat and as Harry pushed her down the long, quiet corridors, he recanted the story of how he, Ron and Malfoy, along with dozens and dozens of Aurors and Order Members, stormed Malfoy Manor. Everything from the last seven— or some would argue seventeen— years, had culminated in a final epic duel. It was over. Really, truly over. 

 

“So…” Harry breathed, his step slowing as they rounded the corner to the Intensive Care Wing. “Anything you feel up to telling me?”

 

Grinning, Hermione managed a peek over her shoulder. “Found myself just a tiny bit pregnant…” 

 

There was a stretch of silence between them, only the creaking of the wheels and the slap of his shoes against the tile. “And… we’re happy about this?”

 

Hermione sighed, deciding that she knew the answer already. “We are. I mean, I certainly didn’t expect this. Have no idea how in the hell to do any of it, but yeah, it’ll be good. From all the mess and heartache of this war, something new and fresh, and hopefully cute, will be born. That can’t be so bad, right?”

 

Harry huffed out a happy breath. “Right.” 

 

“He’s a good man, Draco. He’ll be a good father, I think. I just need to figure out how in the hell I’m going to be a mum.”

 

“You’ll be brilliant, just like you are at everything else. Hell, you’ve been watching out for us all these years; if you can keep Ron and I alive, I’ve no doubt your child will thrive. Besides, he will have two uncles that will teach him all the important stuff.”

 

“ _ Why _ do you all keep assuming it’s a boy? It could very well be a girl! The Granger genes are strong!”

 

Harry laughed and paused outside of a door that could be any other, but she knew it was Ron’s. 

 

“Can I have just a minute with him?” she asked, her voice quiet and her fingers pulling on each other. 

 

“You got it, I’ll be back for you in a bit.” Reaching for the door, he opened it wide so she could wheel herself through. 

 

Ron was lying flat on his back with a white sheet draped over him. She thought he was asleep at first glance, but when the door creaked, his eyes shot open. 

 

“They won’t let me eat!” He shouted, pushing up to seated. “Bollocks, is what it is.  _ They’re starving their patients _ !”

 

Hermione giggled and pushed her chair to his bedside. “I’m sure there has to be some kind of law prohibiting the inhumane treatment of patients. I will look into it at the first opportunity.”

 

“That’s my girl.” His lips pulled into a lopsided grin.

 

“Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

 

“A little, but they’re taking care of me. The cut was deep, so it’s taking awhile. I’ll be here another week, they say.”

 

“Thank you so much, Ron. You saved us.” Her voice trembled. 

 

“The baby alright?” 

 

“Baby’s okay. Guess we had a bit of a scare… but I was unconscious. I shouldn’t have been there, should have just stayed put.”

 

“Yeah, you should’ve.” She peered up through her lashes at him and he loosened an exasperated breath. “But you wouldn’t be Hermione if you had. I’m proud of you. I’ve heard some stories already. You saved a lot of people.”

 

“Not enough. Never enough.”

 

“You did good, and I’m gonna be alright. That Rookwood bastard had it coming.”

 

“I haven’t even begun to deal with that…” 

 

“He deserved worse, Hermione. Trust me, his war crimes weren’t in short supply on the field and he’d have gotten the Kiss before long if you hadn’t killed him. You gave it to him easy.”

 

Hermione shook her head and stared at her palms. “Harry’s gonna be back soon and I just have to say something before he does.” Ron shifted uncomfortably, moving his gaze to his lap. “You’ve been saving me for as long as I can remember. You and Harry are the only reason I’m still here, but you especially. I’m so thankful for you. I know that so much has changed, but you’ll be one of the most important people in my life. I don’t want to lose you, no matter what comes next for us all.”

 

These last few weeks Ron had been amenable enough, but he’d also been trapped. She wasn’t sure that now he had a choice, he’d stick as close. That terrified her. 

 

“Don’t you worry, ‘Mione. I’m not going anywhere.” Half of his mouth curled up into a smile and Hermione reached for his hand. 

 

There was a knock at the door and Harry’s messy haired head peeked through. 

 

“There is an ugly, slimy Slytherin out here looking for you Hermione, should I tell him to get lost?”

 

Hermione barked out a laugh and wiped the few stray tears from her cheeks. “You could try, but I doubt he’d listen.” 

 

Harry and Malfoy strode in and made their way to the other side of Ron’s head. 

 

“Thanks, Weasel,” Malfoy said, his jaw tight, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

 

“I’d say anytime, Malfoy— but if it’s alright with everyone, I’d like to avoid this kind of confrontation in the future.” The four of them broke into a quiet, cautious laughter that settled into a deafening silence.

 

“What in the world are we gonna do now?” Harry asked quietly.

 

Hermione smiled, her mind wandering towards the baby growing in her belly. Hope bloomed warm in her chest. “Whatever we want.” 

  
  


 

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

  
  


Looking back at it all, Hermione still wondered how in the hell they wound up here. There had been too many times that things had gone wrong, too many close calls— and yet, here they were. 

 

Together. 

 

Everyone kept telling her to sleep; but how could she? There was a piece of her, something that grown and existed deep inside her, that now existed outside of her. The soft little milk drunk noises coming from the bassinet kept her from resting; she could stare at those perfectly pink cheeks and the dusting of blonde hair all day. 

 

“Is she alright?” Draco asked, his voice drenched in fatigue as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. 

 

“She’s perfect.  _ Little Lyra Jean _ .” Hermione reached into the bassinet, a single finger sliding down the downy fuzz covering her cheek. 

 

Distantly, Hermione registered two pops of Apparition and she grinned down at the little lady swaddled tight. “Your uncles are here,” she whispered. 

 

Draco groaned. “Do we have to let them be uncles? You’ve already insisted they be co-Godfathers, as if such a thing exists between heterosexual men.” 

 

“Oh, hush! They’ll be brilliant; won’t they, Lyra?” Her little pink lips parted and rooted for Hermione’s finger and a deep, unfathomable love surrounded her heart, fixing every crack that had ever marred it. 

 

“We’re here!” Harry’s voice boomed through the cottage and with no thought for privacy, the door to the downstairs bedroom was pushed open. 

 

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle as Draco groaned loudly. The two of them were laden with presents, including a giant lion stuffed animal sitting proudly in Ron’s arms. 

 

“Where’s the little lion cub?” Ron grinned, shaking his gift at the two of them curled up on the bed in the afternoon light. 

 

Lyra whimpered and both of her friends features fell seriously, their gifts falling unceremoniously to the floor as they made their way to her side. 

 

“She’s beautiful,” Harry said seriously, tears welling in his emerald eyes. 

 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Thank, Merlin she looks like you, Hermione. You’d be totally fucked if she came out with Malfoy’s ugly mug.” 

 

“ _ Language, Ronald!”  _

 

He barked out a teasing laugh and gestured to Lyra with a hopeful quirk to his brows. 

 

“Go on, just be careful and no cursing!” Hermione chastised, shifting in her seat. 

 

Ron lifted the baby, cradling her gently in the crook of his arm, his features lighting up as he stared at the newest addition to their little crew. Harry peeked over, brushing her soft curls gently.

 

They’d all been so utterly broken not so long ago that she wasn’t sure how they’d ever be whole again. But somewhere along the way, she realized that they weren’t meant to go back to how they were before. Their new, jagged edges fit together perfectly, forming a strange little family that she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest dreams. 

  
  
  


* * *

 

**A/N: Thanks to Ravenslight and MCal for all their lovely work on this fic as I rewrote it. It was a very difficult piece for me to revisit.**

 

**I wrote this at a time when I was really sick and pregnant. I was in and out of the hospital and couldn’t drive or leave my house. I didn’t realize it as I wrote it just how much of myself I was putting into this story and now looking back, I found I couldn’t change much at all. It might not be my most favorite piece I’ve ever written haha but It’s part of my story!**

 

**Thanks for reading along! I hope you enjoyed it and sorry about the long break there. Until next time, loves. - LK**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Your reviews in my inbox give me the biggest smiles! Thank you for taking the time to let me know what you think :)


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